Heal Thyself
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: After the healer, Jake O'Conner, dies, Dean and Sam just want to get away and forget what happened. But there's pretty much nowhere Dean can go to escape from himself... and his new abilities. continuation to 'Within a Dream.' Version 1 as extra chs.
1. Chapter One

**"Heal Thyself"**

**Chapter One**

_"And he said unto them, Ye will surely say unto me this proverb, Physician, heal thyself..."_

-- The Bible, Luke 4:23 (KJV)

- - -

It was a week after Jake O'Conner had died, and Dean couldn't remember a day that'd gone by when he hadn't had a splitting headache, not to mention, his arm was still broken and in a cast.

They'd been driving for awhile, when Sam suggested that they get something to eat. Dean, already beginning to feel the signs of another headache coming on, nodded his approval. Sam found a rest stop in the next restaurant they spotted.

"Dean," Sam began, on the tail-end of shutting the driver-side door. Dean could already feel another one of those talks coming on.

So he slammed his own door and threatened, "Don't go there, Sammy."

"I was just going to ask if you're feeling all right," Sam retorted, "You look like you're getting another headache." Dean had had to take a couple of Ibuprofen the night before, it'd gotten so bad.

He realized his brow was furrowed, to the point where he was most likely going to have indentation marks minutes after he'd finally quit, and forced himself to smooth out his forehead. "I'm fine. Stop worrying about me so much." He tried to nonchalantly head into the diner.

Sam caught up with him and bumped arms to get his attention. "I'm just concerned, Dean."

Yeah, he knew it. But he didn't want to talk about it. Not ever again.

"I know, Sam, but if you don't shut up, I'm gonna have to shoot you," Dean retorted, yanking the restaurant door open.

Sam's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged and went ahead into the diner. Dean followed, letting the door swing shut behind him. They found some seats, in a corner of the restuarant that was less populated, and the waitress came by in a few minutes to interrupt their uncomfortable silence.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked, cheerfully, and Dean's headache got worse before he realized she probably wasn't in as good a mood as she let on.

Just in the same way that Sam forced a polite smile and asked her to get them some menus, she was probably hiding behind a smile and a peppy voice. Dean rubbed his temple and stared off at the canister of sugars.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," the waitress said, just that small touch of strain, giving away her embarrassment. "I'll be right back with them." Then she hurried away, and Sam's smile faded.

"Dean?" he asked, but it took a moment or two for the question to register. "Huh? What?" he asked, eyes falling on Sam.

"Your headache is getting worse," Sam stated, flatly, and Dean rolled his eyes out of annoyance.

"Of course it's getting worse. I mean, now we have to wait until what's-her-face gets back with the menus, and then we have to actually order something, and then we have to wait until she comes back to take our orders..." he trailed off, realizing he'd chosen an asinine way of avoiding Sam's endless stream of concern. That waitress couldn't help it if she was having a bad day.

Sam's brow went up, briefly, but all he replied with was a very sarcastic, "Okay."

Before the waitress arrived, a mother and her young daughter came into the back where they sat, and took a table somewhere behind Dean and to the right of him. His headache got worse, and he nearly put his head down on the table when a wave of nausea accompanied it like some sort of harbinger of doom.

Sam was all too quick to notice his head drop, anyway, and wondered, "Dean, you okay?" in a tense whisper.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, but his head was throbbing, and he could tell, without even looking, that something was really, really wrong with that little girl in the other booth. She was scared and a little bit sad, but mostly just really, really tired.

Dean swallowed and turned his head to peer at her, surreptitiously. She was sitting next to her mother, close enough to lean her head against the woman's arm. About seven or eight years old, with medium-length brown hair, she had a pale face, with dark circles ringing her big, dark-brown eyes.

"Dean, why are you staring at--?" Sam began, nervously, but just then, the child's nose began to drip then pour blood down her upper lip and chin. It dribbled onto the front of her pink t-shirt, and she put up her hand to her nose, noticing it.

Her mother looked toward her, brown eyes widening, and she ordered with the calmness of experience, "Here, sweety, let me see." Then she reached for the napkin bin and yanked out a whole wad of them.

Sam and Dean got to their feet almost at the same time, and Sam questioned, "Do you need us to call an ambulance?"

The woman sent him a grateful, worried look and replied, "No... I don't think--" She'd been holding the napkins to her daughter's nose until then, so she felt when the girl went completely limp and started to slump down in the leather booth seat.

Dean stepped forward and caught the girl before she slipped to the floor. "Sam, call the ambulance," he ordered, and lifted the girl into his arms, carefully, because of his cast, before he settled onto the floor with her in his lap. Her nose was still bleeding, so he kept her upright, not wanting her to choke on her own blood.

He motioned for her mother to bring the napkins, and the woman quickly scooted out of the booth and knelt beside them, and attempted to again staunch the flow of blood. Dean could hear Sam giving the paramedics directions behind him, but he tuned it out to ask, "What's wrong with her?"

"Chronic nose-bleeds," the mother said, weariness and fear in her shaking voice. "I was taking her to a specialist... that's why we're traveling. Oh, God, it just won't stop..." she finished, and Dean realized she'd pretty much reached her breaking point.

He took the soaked napkins from her trembling hand, and started to hold it to the girl's nose himself, when something odd happened. As his fingers touched her face through the wet paper, the pain that had been slicing through his head simply ceased. His hand felt warm, and then hot, and then that heat seemed to seep out of him...

Feeling drained, but knowing something had happened, Dean curiously dropped his hand from the girl's face. As the napkins came away, Dean's eyes widened.

The bleeding had stopped.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, then crouched beside him a moment later, "The ambulance is on its way... Has the bleeding stopped?" he realized, and looked toward the lady, who was staring at her daughter in awe.

"I-It j-just--" she began, but cut herself off. "That's never happened before!" Her eyes were on Dean. "You... you did something, didn't you?"

Dean swallowed, and began shaking his head. 'No,' his mind denied, 'No way.' "I think she's going to be fine," he said, inanely, and re-adjusted the girl so that her mother could take her. He grabbed hold of Sam as he got to his feet, unsteadily, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Sam's eyes were wide as he watched his brother, but he complied, getting to his feet and following him toward the exit. Outside, he asked, "What happened in there?" gesturing back toward the building with an out-flung arm.

Dean shrugged and ducked into the Impala. "You're pale," Sam stated, once he was sitting in the driver's seat.

"So?" Dean shot back, "You would be too if you had some kid's life in your hands."

"I have," Sam answered, as he pulled the car out of the restaurant's parking lot. "And I wasn't nearly so freaked out after they were okay, as you seem to be."

"I'm not freaked out," Dean denied.

"You just said you were, and now you're going to take it back?" came Sam's incredulous reply to that assertion.

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Dean growled, "Would you just drop it? I'm freaked out, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That girl could've died, and no demon-hunting skills could have saved her! And then, she just... didn't." He couldn't get the image of Jake out of his mind, for some reason, sitting on his couch, smiling a sad, accepting smile.

Dean wondered if Jake had known all along--what he was going to do.

Sam stared at him, Dean could feel the gaze burning a hole in his cheek. "It wouldn't have been your fault if she had died." The soft reply startled him into glancing Sam's way. He was saying what Dean wouldn't let him say anymore. 'It's not your fault. He did it because he cared about you.'

Now he saw that his kid brother was looking just as pale and wan as he felt. "I know," he mumbled, then turned away to stare out his window, unseeingly.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

They found another motel, and the first thing Dean did was drop into bed and fall asleep.

If that wasn't cause enough for worry, Sam didn't know what was. Dean had been white as a ghost after the incident at the restaurant. His headache had seemingly vanished, but somehow that hadn't eased Sam's qualms at all.

After Sam had a vision, the headache would start to recede, too. What if, and he was just throwing this out there, but what if this was connected somehow? What did that _mean_, exactly? Was Dean having visions?

No, that just didn't sit right with him. But, if he wasn't having visions, then what was the cause of the headaches? Or was Sam just overreacting? What if it was just from hunger like Dean had claimed, or even lack of sleep, or stress? God knew, he'd certainly been through a lot of stress lately, with Jake dy-- well, he'd been through a lot.

But then, Sam couldn't discount that look of awe on that woman's face, when she realized her daughter's nosebleed had just been, all of a sudden, stanched. _'What did she say again?' _Sam asked himself.

He finally remembered--she'd looked at Dean in amazement and asked him if he'd done something. 'What did she mean? _Do_ something as in...?' Sam's eyes widened, when he realized. _'She thought Dean performed a miracle on her kid, like some sort of _faith-healer...?'

But that was impossible. Wasn't it? But there _had_ been Jake, after all. Even if it seemed unlikely that Dean had the same gift, it wasn't impossible for the gift to exist so...

Sam decided that he needed to get some fresh air and give all this thinking a rest. Besides, neither of them had eaten yet, and Dean was going to be starving, and a pain in the butt because of it, when he finally got up.

So Sam left the motel room, leaving a note on the desk for Dean, telling him he'd gone to get them some takeout.

- - - 

The first things Dean became aware of were his dry throat and the sticky-grittiness of his eyes. He cleared his throat with a groan and rolled over onto his back, beginning to rub his eyes. And then he noticed how empty the motel-room felt, and he snapped up into a sitting position.

"Sammy?" he called out, his throat catching on a "frog." He cleared it, glancing around the room, but didn't see his brother anywhere.

He glanced toward the bathroom, and took in the open door and absence of light. Not there... So where was he?

"Darn it, Sam!" Where had he gone off to without permission? Sam would have said he was a little old to be getting permission still, but Dean couldn't help but feel irritated. And maybe, he admitted to himself, just a little bit abandoned and weirdly freaked out.

Rising from the bed, he searched the bedside table for a note, and then the desk at the other end of the room. He found a piece of notepad paper, and Sam's scribbling on it.

_"Went out for takeout. I'll be back soon. Sam."_

Dean sighed and crumpled up the note and tossed it in the wastebasket beside the desk. _'At least he's goin' to get food,'_ he thought, and his stomach growled as if in reply. He quirked an ironic half-grin down at it.

But even knowing where Sam was, now, the room still felt strangely empty and cold. He'd felt that way before, and the eerie feeling of _deja-vu_ made him pull instantly away from all consecutive thoughts.

So he immediately snatched up the remote and flipped on the television, sitting down on his bed to watch. He flipped through channels, not really seeing anything that interested him. Finally, he settled on one of those **Science Channel** shows, and stared blankly at the screen.

All the while, his mind was roaming off in other directions. Mostly he just kept seeing the same things over and over again, like the look on that woman's face... or the blood on her daughter's. But other things too, like the moment when his hand had felt so hot he'd almost wondered if it was going to catch on fire. And there had been warmth whenever Jake had healed him, too, and he realized he was never going to be able to stop his thoughts from returning to those memories. Just like he would never be able to forget what his father had done for him, and then Jake, doing it all over--

Growling to himself, Dean put the TV on mute and got his cell from the night stand. He called Sam, and sat there, glaring at the sea creatures on the Science channel, as his brother's cell phone rang.

"Dean?" Sam wondered, from the other end, and Dean felt an inexplicable relief. "How long are you gonna be?" he grumbled, and Sam's snort was audible over the line.

"As soon as they bring me my order, I'll be coming back," he said. "So maybe about five or ten minutes."

"_Ten_ minutes?" Dean asked, horrified. "I'm starving, man!"

"Uh, huh," Sam returned, unsympathetically. "Bye, Dean."

"Wait, wait, wait, Sammy!" Dean rushed, "Don't hang up!" There was a pause, and finally Sam asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Dean snapped, then thought better of it, "I'm just bored," he prevaricated. It was more than that, but he wasn't about to tell Sam about this strange, empty feeling.

"Watch TV," Sam grouched, "I'll be back in a few."

"Wait! _Sam_," Dean pleaded, and could've groaned at his own needy whining.

"Dean, if something is really wrong, why don't you just tell me?" Sam whispered furiously. He was apparently around people, and the conversation was getting a little too private.

"I..." Dean began, swore softly, gritted his teeth, then relented, "Oh, all right. I'll see you when you get here." And he hung up before Sam could give him anymore grief.

"_So_, friendly, little sea creatures," he said to the TV, and un-muted it. "It's just the two of us, again." He raised his eyebrows and grinned at the TV, suggestively, then squirmed uncomfortably a moment later, when a shark appeared on the screen, swimming toward the camera with menacing, dead-black eyes.

- - - 

When Sam got back with the takeout, he found Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the Cartoon Network. _'At least this motel doesn't have vibrating beds,' _he thought, with grateful sarcasm, and held out the plastic bag to his expectant brother.  
"What'd you get?" Dean questioned, the hopeful look in his eyes belying his cross tone.

"Chinese," Sam answered, and sat down next to Dean and started opening the other bag. "Fried pork and chicken teriyaki."

"Dibs on the teriyaki," Dean said, and Sam's eyes narrowed.

"I got it for myself."

"Too bad," Dean answered, cracking open one of the Styrofoam cartons to take a look at the contents. Sam snatched the other box from him, and checked its contents.

"Hah," he said, and Dean cast him a resentful glance. The teriyaki had been in the second box.

"Here's your fork," Dean mumbled, handing him one of the plastic packets, with napkin, fork, and knife inside.

"Thanks," Sam answered, grinning all the while at Dean's defeated sullenness.

"Don't see why you didn't just get two teriyakis," he grumbled, and Sam shrugged. "Didn't know what you wanted," he said, dismissively.

"Dude," Dean groused, "You'd think you'd know your own brother by now."

Sam snickered, giving himself away, and Dean eyed him, suspiciously. "You did it on purpose."

"Me?" Sam questioned, and Dean gave him a look.

"Forget it," he said, finally, and Sam chuckled. Actually, he'd been trying to lighten the tense mood they'd fallen into of late. But he couldn't let on to Dean, so he feigned lightheartedness that he just didn't feel.

After a moment, Sam questioned, seriously, "Why were you in such a hurry for me to get back here?"

Dean frowned at him, an annoyed gesture. "I was hungry."

"You tried to stay on the phone with me, too," Sam pointed out, tilting his head to emphasize his point.

Dean stared at the funny, little characters on the TV for a minute, then finally said, voice almost too low for Sam to hear over the comical chatter, "It felt weird here... by myself."

Sam frowned, lip turning up at the corner. "Weird? How so? 'Presence of evil' weird?" he hypothesized, and earned Dean's exasperation for his deductive efforts.

"_No._ Not evil-weird, just--" He shook his head. "I don't know. Just... _weird_." When he averted his gaze, Sam knew that he was hiding something again. Had he been thinking about Jake? Was that why he'd wanted Sam around--to get his mind off of the man's death?

"Okay, you're just gonna have to be a _bit_ more specific than that," Sam said, "'Cause, when it comes to us, 'weird' is a little bit too vague of a description."

Dean snorted, but shook his head again. "It felt... Okay, look, I know you're going to make fun of me, but I'm just going to say it. It felt _empty_." He looked away, actually getting a little pink at the tips of his ears.

Sam froze, an image of Dean, wrecked and broken, flashing into his mind. He couldn't take it if that happened again. "Empty?" he began, carefully, "Are you sure this isn't just grief?"

Dean glared at Sam like he wanted to laser his eyeballs out, but when he opened his mouth, he promptly shut it again, leaving Sam to wonder what he'd been about to say. And then he shrugged and offered, "I guess I was just imagining it... Now leave me alone, so I can try and gag this crap down." He shoved Sam away, a little.

Sam frowned, realizing Dean had reached his limits of patience with Sam's probing. So he nodded, and then looked toward the TV. After a moment, his brow furrowed and he wondered, "Dude. Why are you _watching_ this?"

It was an episode of The Powerpuff Girls. Dean cleared his throat and claimed, "There was nothing else on."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Scattered images plastered themselves to the back of Dean's eyes, one last one remaining as he slowly became aware that he was waking. Jake stood in the wooded area outside of his cabin, and Dean could see the soft, accepting smile on his lips from a distance.

Opening his eyes, Dean began to lick his dry lips and felt his jaws protest. Apparently, he'd been clenching his teeth in his sleep. _'Darn it, just what I need, a tooth-ache on top of all this other crap.'_

Sitting up in the motel bed, he saw dim light emerging from the window and the laptop Sam was staring at, his back to Dean as he sat in the desk chair. His knee was bouncing nervously, as if he wanted to get up and get moving, but he stayed seated, rigidly, in front of his computer.

"Sam," Dean called, cleared his throat and said it again for good measure, "Sammy."

Sam turned around and blinked at him, straightening in his seat and asking, "Hey. Feelin' all right?"

Dean nodded. "You lookin' for a new hunt?"

"Yeah..." Sam said, trailing off and glancing back at his laptop screen. He pursed his lips together as he looked back toward Dean. "Not finding anything, though." He shrugged and shut his laptop, with jerky motions.

Frustration hit Dean like a wave of panic, and he jerked, his spine straightening spasmodically. "Sam," he said, before he could stop himself, "You need to relax, man." Realizing he sounded a little reprimanding, he amended, "I mean, when was the last time we got to relax? Let's just take a vacation--my arm's broken, anyhow. We might as well take advantage of it."

"What's up with you lately, Dean?" Sam grumbled, getting up and coming over to where Dean sat on the edge of his bed. "The headaches, healing little kids... Did you absorb Jake's powers or something?"

Dean scoffed. "Absorb Jake's-- Sam, you've been reading too many trashy, scifi paperbacks."

Sam didn't look like he quite bought that, but he sat down across from Dean, on his own bed, and questioned, "So what gives? You of all people suddenly want to take a break from hunting?" He raised a brow. "That's not like you, Dean."

"How do you know what's like me, Sam?" He retorted, threateningly, "I told you I was tired, didn't I? That I just wanted to get away, but you had to go running off and got yourself in trouble with Gordon--"

"As I recall," Sam bit back, "_You_ were the one who got yourself kidnapped."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean hissed, "But before that, I was serious. We need a break. _I_ need a break, Sam." He let the pleading tone creep into his voice. Sam wasn't going to relax until he thought _Dean_ needed to relax. And that, when Dean started to think about it--_really_ think about it--was just freakin' screwed up.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, frowned, appraised Dean with soft, gentle eyes--his lips parted just slightly. Finally he relented, "Okay, Dean. We'll take a breather. But what do you propose we _do_ during this break? Get jobs?" He said it as if it were so impossible.

Dean shrugged. "Why not? If that's what you want. I mean, we need the money, right. But _I_ can't get a job. Unless you can round something up for me that's completely under the table."

Sam's inner wince hit him like a punch to the gut. Did he really feel that bad for Dean? Surprised, and none too disturbed, Dean tried to change the subject the best he could, "So, what's it gonna be, Sammy? McDonald's?" He grinned, and Sam squirmed.

"Jerk," he grumbled. "And it's not like I can get anything that needs a real name and social security card, either."

"Right," Dean agreed, amusement dampened. "We'll think of something." Just then, he noticed Sam's breath fogging on the air and blinked, glancing around at the air conditioner.

"Sam, how cold did you put the--?" Standing by the door, was Jake, smiling that same sad smile, and nodding at him. Dean's eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet, starting forward. "Jake!"

The man disappeared, and the room grew a few degrees warmer. Still, Dean shivered. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and was at his shoulder in a second. "Dean, what is it? Did you see Jake?"

Dean swallowed, and tried to pull away from Sam's grasp. "I--" he began, then shook his head. "Nah, it couldn't have been."

"Dean, the room was freezing cold just a second ago," Sam said, then ordered, "Hey, look at me!"

He turned, slowly, barely able to meet Sam's eyes. "What?" he asked, stiffly, but Sam's shadowy, blue gaze remained concerned.

"Did you see him?"

"See who?" Dean deadpanned, but a moment later his breath froze on the air, and his head snapped toward the doorway again.

There was Jake, telling him something, flickering in and out as he spoke. _"D--ean-- on't-- sh--ut h--im ou--t."_

"Jake..." Dean called breathlessly, tears filling his eyes. Even now, after dying, the man still wouldn't give it a rest. He still wanted Dean to let Sam in, to let his brother know how he was feeling.

"Dean, I can't see him," Sam said, "Are you sure he's here?"

"I'm sure," Dean snapped, knowing that no other ghost but Jake would follow him across long distances only to tell him to let his brother in emotionally. Jake gave him a shrug, a rakish lopsided grin, then disappeared. "We need to go salt and burn--" he began, but Sam cut him off.

"I get the feeling he's not a vengeful spirit, Dean." Dean's eyes snapped to Sam, and his little brother continued, "Whatever reason he has for sticking around, I'm sure it's got something to do with _you._"

Great, even Sam knew Jake well enough to know that. "Okay, what do _you_ think we should do then?" he asked, acid dripping off every syllable.

"Listen to him," Sam answered, promptly, "If he's trying to help you, then he's going to be giving you signs. Just follow them."

Dean glared, but Sam didn't back down. "Yeah, well," he snapped, "What if I don't want to?"

Sam looked at him incredulously. "Are you telling me you'd be stubborn enough to not let your friend find peace? A man who only ever wanted to help you?"

Dean squirmed uncomfortably--snapped, "Yes!" Then lowered his gaze to the carpet. "No... Darn it, Sam!" He looked up again. "He wants too much from me! Don't you get it?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't."

He broke away from Sam's grip, sat on the edge of his bed and grabbed his boots. He started putting them on and lacing them up as he spoke, "I'm going out for a walk."

"What?" Sam demanded, but Dean barely glanced at him. "You're that determined to avoid this conversation?"

"Yeah," Dean retorted, dully.

"You jerk--" Sam started, but Dean stood up and grabbed his jacket from where he'd left it draped over his duffel bag.

"I'll be back in awhile," he said, and jerked the door open and stepped outside, slamming it behind him.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N:** -Pretends she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.- Btw, have I ever told any of you that I usually have _multiple_ versions of all my stories? Yes, I am cracked. That's what everyone loves about me... right? Right?

- - -**  
**

**Chapter Four**

A few blocks from the motel, Dean realized what a huge mistake it'd been. Every time he got close enough to even glimpse another human being, their feelings invaded his, and he could barely separate one from the other. He had a headache by the time he made it to a semi-secluded lot, somewhere toward the edge of town.

It was nice out here, no cars, hardly any houses, barely any people... He sat down in the tall grass, hoping there weren't any snakes or cow patties, and brushed his hands down the legs of his jeans. _'Jake, you idiot... Why'd you stick around for me?'_

There was no answer, and Dean let out a long sigh and buried his forehead in his bony knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. And then the air seemed to grow chill, and he glanced up in time to see Jake, standing in the distance among the tall grass. He smiled once, a parting smile, then said, _"I didn't leave,"_ in a voice that sounded like a whisper spoken directly into Dean's ear.

"Jake..." he said, getting to his feet and beginning to walk toward the spot where he'd seen his friend's ghost last. He broke into a jogging run, but slowed to a halt, realizing that Jake was really gone.

Swallowing back tears, Dean swore and turned to kick a clump of grass. He didn't know what Jake had meant, but it sure wasn't that he was still alive. Stupid, cryptic, ghost messages...

He got sick of standing there like an idiot, and started back to the motel. He was going to feel even dumber when Sam asked him where he went. Of course, he could always say he blew off some steam in a bar, but if Sam didn't smell cigarette smoke and stale beer on him, that explanation probably wasn't gonna fly.

Would've been the first time Sam was suspicious about him _not_ going to a bar, though, Dean contemplated, wryly, as he made his way down the curbside back the way he'd come...

- - -

Sam couldn't do much but go out and find that job that Dean had suggested he get. It was either that or pace up and down the motel room while Dean was out who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what. And if he tried doing that, Sam knew he'd probably end up breaking everything in the place.

So he'd gone out looking for some minimum wage gig, and ended up at some jerk's electronics shop, packing cellphones. He could tell right away, by the way the man said that he didn't really need the help, that it was just going to be a one-time deal. But they needed the cash--they _always_ needed the cash--and it was better than sitting back at the motel, twiddling his thumbs.

So when the guy paid him fifty bucks and told him he'd give him a call, Sam had given a mental, _'Yeah, right,'_ and headed back to the motel. He'd trudged in, seen that Dean still wasn't back, and gone out to find some supper. He got back from the fast-food restaurant, and still, Dean hadn't returned.

He'd eaten, wishing it wasn't so quiet, remembering fights he'd had with Dean over various kitchen tables while their dad scribbled away in his journal, usually ignoring his two sons--or trying to. And sometimes, when they'd all just sat and actually talked about something other than hunting. Those had been rare occasions, and the thought of them made Sam's eyes water, so he quit and shoved another piece of crispy chicken in his mouth.

There was a knock on the door, and Sam nearly choked. He took a long sip of his coke and got up, calling, "Who is it?"

"Open the door, Sam," Dean called back, and Sam relaxed marginally. It could still be a trick, so he grabbed his gun and held it at the ready as he eased the door open.

Dean growled at him, "Sam, put that away." Sam blinked at Dean, registered the shadows under his eyes, and then snapped out of it and put his gun under the waistband of his pants, at his back.

His brother slipped inside, shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, almost sagging. Sam shifted uncomfortably to see the man like that, and questioned, "So... where were you?"

"Walking," was Dean's one-word response. And then he glanced at the chicken on the table, but his eyes slipped past it, and he bypassed everything and dropped face-first onto his bed. He wrapped his hands around and underneath the pillow, burying his face in it, and Sam gritted his teeth and held his breath and tongue.

He knew that Dean wasn't over Jake's death yet... and it wasn't like he'd had any time to come to terms with their dad's either, but sometimes, despite knowing all that, Sam couldn't help but be infuriated with the idiot.

Why couldn't he just stop closing himself off and _share_ some of those bottled-up feelings with Sam? Why did he keep going around pretending that everything was all right as long as they kept going on to the next hunt? And now...? He wasn't even bothering to hunt, anymore. He called a _break_, of all things! What the heck was _that_ about?

Sam finished counting to the proverbial ten and stormed off to the bathroom. He was going to take a long shower and hope that it washed away a little of his frustration. God knew, nothing else seemed to be doing the trick.

- - -

When Sam got out of the restroom, he was mainly thinking about getting to sleep, while half-heartedly entertaining the idea of getting online to do some searching for a new hunt. But those thoughts flew out of his mind, and onto the damp towel he was still rubbing over his hair, when he saw the little boy that was lying in Dean's place.

The towel dropped to the floor at his feet, along with his jaw. "Dean...?" he asked, and the boy sort of started and sat up, but not before reaching under his pillow, and then releasing whatever it was he found beneath it...

"Dean?" Sam repeated, knowing it was the large bowie knife the kid had been clutching just a second ago.

"Yeah?" the boy croaked, turning over slowly. He was wearing a dark-green hoody and some jeans, and a t-shirt underneath the hoody. He blinked green eyes at Sam, and then rubbed one of them in the way that used to have Jessica cooing, "How cute!" whenever she saw a child do it on TV.

"Dean," Sam repeated, still not quite believing his eyes. Maybe he'd stayed under the hot spray too long, and the steam had gotten to his brain...? _Or_ Jake's ghost had something to do with this. Yeah, option number two sounded about right, he concluded, with as much sarcasm as he could find beneath the shock.

"Yeah, for the hundredth time!" Dean retorted, then his already large eyes widened. "Oh, my God,_tell_ me this isn't happening a-freakin-gain!"

"It's not happening again," Sam repeated back to the boy, numbly.

Dean smacked himself in the forehead, and then cussed under his breath when it jarred the arm he'd happened to use--his left, the broken one. "Oh, for-- Sam, did you do this?" he questioned, and hopped off the bed. He looked down, took in the tennis shoes, made a "Huh" sort of face, and then glared up at Sam again. "Because if you did, so help me--"

"I didn't," Sam said, "And are you even thinking straight? Jake had to've done this somehow."

Dean blinked. "Jake..." he half-whispered. "Aw, crap..." He sat down on the bed, rubbed a hand over his face, a familiar gesture, which caused Sam to choke back a startled laugh. That just looked _so_ out-of-sync, when a little kid did it.

"Dean, this is a problem," he stated, instead.

Dean looked up, narrowed his eyes, and wondered, "Ya _think_?"

Sam couldn't help it this time, he chuckled, and then turned away, covering his mouth. "Sorry... uh..." He coughed, and repeated, "Sorry."

The boy just blinked at him a few times, and then started to blush. "Sam... Sammy! Stop it!"

"What?" Sam protested. "I said I was sorry. It's just that you just sound so... I don't know... a little strange coming from a... a six--"

"Seven!" Dean protested.

"Seven year-old," Sam finished, cleared his throat, and shifted his stance, sheepishly.

"It's not _that_..." Dean said, groaned, and left the bed to pace a little. "It's that you're all... laughing up your sleeve... and thinking I'm cute and... and... and would you just quit it? It's humiliating!"

Kids--they took things so hard.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam as if he knew what he was thinking, then tried to glower, but didn't quite pull it off.

Sam bit his tongue against the laughter, but his brother sighed and called out to the room in general, "Jake, if you're out there--this is _not_ funny! I don't know how you did it, but you'd better take it back or I'm going to salt and burn your sorry--"

"Dean," Sam said, reasonably, "I'm sure he's just trying to help."

"How is this helping?" Dean exclaimed, motioning at himself with a kid-sized hand.

Sam pursed his lips to keep from smiling and shook his head, shrugging. "It sure got you to open up to me the _last_ time it happened."

"That is so--" Dean said, under his breath and to the floor, "Next time I see that-- I'm gonna-- For the love of-- Dang it."

Sam couldn't help it; he grinned.


	5. Chapter Five

**Note:** Btw, I didn't really explain things properly. In case anyone likes the other version better, I still have it, and (on request) will put it back up as extra chapters. _Gomen nasai_. _Baka desu ne... _occasionally. _Warui, warui..._

- - -**  
**

**Chapter Five**

After he was through spluttering, Dean took a deep breath and sat down on his bed again. This was just so wrong. As if it hadn't been wrong enough the first time, that jerk had gone and done it again--and this time it didn't even look like Dean was his astral-kid self, or whatever it was supposed to be called. He got the feeling he was a kid--a "real boy," and that he wasn't about to change back into his adult self when he went back to sleep. Which meant... crap. Crap. Crap. Freakin' crap of the century.

"I'm gonna kill him," he muttered darkly, but it just sounded stupid coming out in his kid-voice. Meanwhile, he could feel Sam trying not to snicker in the background. "Oh, shut up!" he told the guy, and Sam started laughing for real.

Dean sulked and finally Sam said, apologetically, "I know this can't be easy for you, but... maybe he does have a good reason. That is, if it _was_ Jake that did this, and not some other force."

He looked up, startled, and saw that Sam had taken a seat on the other bed, facing him. "Other force?" he demanded, wondering why they hadn't asked that question, in the first place. _'Maybe because Jake has been floating around here the whole time, nimrod. There was no other place to finger-point _except_ at him.'_ He sent out a mental apology to Jake's spirit... or in its general vicinity, he hoped.

"Like a witch, or a prankster-god," Sam answered, and Dean grimaced.

He could sort of imagine that janitor-disguised prankster doing something like this. And it wasn't like Dean was an angel-- someone out there could probably label him a jerk. So turning him into a little kid to "knock him down a peg or two" might fit in a prankster's _modus operandi_.

Then again... why would one bother? Oh, he could see that one guy bothering after Dean had driven a stake through his heart, but the chances of him surviving the stake long enough to come looking for revenge were... well, not so slim as he would like to think, probably.

But then again, this just didn't seem like his style. Wasn't he more into illusions... albeit, illusions that could kill?

"Dean, hey, Dean," Sam said, and Dean snapped out of it to find his brother waving a hand in front of his face. "Zoning out there..."

"Was not," Dean retorted, with a scowl. "I was thinking of who could do this _besides_ Jake--didn't come up with anybody, though."

"Yeah," Sam said, "But we should keep a look-out just in case we're wrong."

Dean agreed with a nod. "Dude," Sam said, almost out of nowhere, so that Dean thought he was about to bring up something important. "Our lives are weird."

Rolling his eyes, Dean wondered, "How many times have I agreed with that one?"

Sam shrugged, gave him one of those self-restrained, mischievous grins, and said, "Goin' on fifty-something...?"

The kid that was Dean smiled a little, and to Sam it looked a little shy and uncomfortable. Had he just never noticed that about Dean before because of his natural... charms, or was he just more self-centered then he realized? Then again, maybe he was just reading too much into a simple smile.

While he was drifting off in thought, Dean had been brainstorming, apparently. "Maybe it has something to do with the empa--"

"What?" Sam demanded, knowing full well what that cut-off word had been.

"What?" Dean repeated back to him, and tried to effect a blank expression.

Sam narrowed his eyes and questioned, "When were you going to tell me you have powers too? Huh? Did you think I wasn't paying attention when you healed that girl in the restaurant?" He blinked, remembering how anxious he'd been the other day, wanting to find a hunt so that they could both move on and forget about all the crappiness lately. "Wait a sec, did you suggest we take a break because of _me_?"

"I didn't even admit to being an empath yet, and you're already accusing me of using my power to-- to--" Dean waved his hands vaguely. "I'm not an empath..._or_ a healer, Sammy."

"Liar," Sam retorted, knowing exactly when Dean lied and how he did it. Very badly. "And I think it's pretty messed up that you wouldn't even have considered taking a break unless it was for me. All this time, you've had a broken arm. But you've still been willing to get right back to hunting."

Sam's voice had gradually risen as he spoke, and he didn't notice until he'd finished how pale Dean had gone. But now that he did, he saw that his brother was looking wan, and was holding his left arm with his right hand, almost as if he were cradling it to his chest... and he was rocking.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, worriedly and jumped to his feet, immediately going to the boy's side.

Dean flinched back from him at first, but when Sam tried to take his arm from him, he snapped, "It's okay! I'm just... tired. Le'me alone, so I can sleep..."

Sam nodded and released Dean, but only so that he could go and get the mule-headed kid a painkiller. He wasn't sure about the dosage, so he used one of his knives to cut the little, red pill in half. He poured some water from the sink into one of the mouth-rinsing cups, and carried the pill and the water to Dean.

He was still rocking, slightly, when Sam found him again, his eyes focused in front of him, as if he were trying to meditate the pain away. "Here, take this," Sam ordered, and Dean looked up, sharply, then let out a frustrated sigh but took the pill from him and washed it down with the water.

As Sam headed toward the bathroom to put back the glass, Dean called after him, "You'd better stop treating me like an invalid--I can still kick your butt, you know."

- - -

Morning came way, way, way too soon, which made Dean feel like he had a hangover combined with some sort of life-threatening disease. For one, no one should be allowed to wake up before the sun, and for another, he hadn't expected Sam to still be asleep. He was monumentally bored.

So he decided to go for another walk.

He took some cash along with him because he planned to stop the monster-like growling in his stomach. Who knew a kid's stomach could be that loud? Outside, he tucked his hands in the pockets of his hoody and pretended to be just another kid, out fooling around on... was this a weekday? Was it summer? Nah, it felt too nippy to be summer. So that meant that he was supposed to be in school, right? Unless it was about to be Christmas vacation...

Dean shook his head and curbed his wandering mind. He'd just keep a look-out for other kids, and that would tell him what he needed to know--whether he should avoid well-meaning adults and cops, that is.

The one good thing was that he was starting to learn how to shut out the emotions. Somewhere in the back of his mind though, he could still feel Sam, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It would definitely help him keep tabs on his little brother.

_'Hah. Little. Looks like he's not the youngest anymore,'_ some part of his mind taunted him, and he scowled at the sidewalk beneath his tennis shoes. They were the same tennis shoes he'd had on when Jake had pulled him over to his cabin. That had to mean that Jake was responsible for his transformation, right?

By the time he found a restaurant, Dean was feeling queasy and lost. He was too far away from Sam to feel him, now, and that left him nervous and on edge--the same feeling he got during a hunt, except worse because Sam wasn't right there, by his side, ready to face whatever it was that was coming. Dean needed to feel Sam, but on the other hand, his head said that he didn't want to. He needed his space, his freedom.

"What can I get for you?" the waitress asked him, and Dean looked up from the menu he'd been staring at blankly for the last five minutes.

"Um," he said, "A number five... sausages, not hash-browns."

The motherly waitress gave him a humoring grin, took his menu, and went off to tell the cook his order. He sighed and let his head thump down onto the table. He wanted Sam to be there... So why not just give him a call? He half-reached for his back pocket, where he usually kept his cell. That was around the time that he realized he hadn't brought it with him.

- - -

Sam woke up to an empty motel room.

At first, he thought that maybe Dean was in the bathroom, taking one of his super-long showers. Then he realized the light wasn't on, neither was the water running. He searched the room for a note. Then, when he didn't find one, for signs that Dean had been taken forcibly. He didn't find that either, and that ticked him off because it meant that Dean had gone and hadn't thought to leave a note.

"Stupid kid..." he muttered, then half-grinned because he wondered how many times Dean had grumbled the same thing about him.

He got his cell and started to call Dean, only to hear a familiar, tinny rock-melody coming from his brother's duffel bag. "Aw, for--" he started, then gave up and got dressed, stuck Dean's cell in his pocket, grabbed the Impala's keys and went looking for the stupid, inconsiderate, idiot known as his older brother.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N:** I think I'll be posting the other version as extra chapters at the end of this one. In other words, when this is all finished. If that really, really, _really_ annoys you guys, just let me know, and I'll go ahead and post it as a separate story with a title that lets you know what it is. Sorry about the confusion.**  
**

**- - -  
**

**Chapter Six**

The waitress was asking Dean where his mom and dad were. Ten minutes ago, he'd lied to her and said that they would be there in awhile. When she'd come back to check on him, his fictional parents still weren't there, so Dean had suggested that maybe they'd gotten stuck in traffic. She'd gone away again, but now she was back with a vengeance.

"You're not in trouble, honey. But I don't want you to leave until they come for you, okay? You're too young to be out by yourself, especially when you should be in school--" Dang, he'd _known_ that was going to catch up to him. "Do you know their number, that way, I could give them a call for you...?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell her Sam's number, when his brother walked through the door and into the dining area. Sam looked and felt ticked off, but Dean still wondered why he wasn't happier to see the guy. He _was_, after all, extricated from his sticky situation. But all he felt was this sinking, sick feeling, like he'd been caught doing something bad and was about to face the consequences.

"There's my dad, now," he told the waitress, in a weak, little voice that didn't sound like him at all. Had he _always_ sounded like that when he was a kid?

"Dean, how could you have left without your cell?" Sam didn't waste any time in chomping into him.

"I forgot it," Dean mumbled, and started to scoot out of his booth seat.

"Now, wait a minute," his would-be-rescuer interrupted. "Your son has been nothing but polite and well-behaved since he came in here. I was just now offering to call you for him, so I think you should go easy on him, sir."

Sam stopped, turned to face her, blinking as if he hadn't even noticed her there. Dean finished sliding out of the booth and stood a little ways from Sam. He wanted to lean on that long leg of Sam's, since he was tired, and his arm was starting to hurt again. But he was inexplicably upset that Sam was annoyed with him. Usually, he would've just brushed it off and told Sam to get a life, or to stop being such a kill-joy, but now that he thought about it, he'd been pretty stupid to leave without his cell.

When had it ever been safe for little kids to be on their own? And _Dean_ had always known that there were far worse things than child-predators out there. So if Sam ripped him a new one, he decided he fully deserved it.

"Ah, uh," Sam was saying to the waitress, "Thanks... It's just that we're not from around here, and I woke up in our motel room, and Dean wasn't there... so..." he gave an eloquent shrug, and the famous puppy-dog eyes, and the woman forgave all his sins.

"Well, in that case," she said, casting Dean a scolding glance. "You'd better apologize to your father, mister."

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, indecisive about whether to laugh or cry. He felt like doing both, but was pretty sure he didn't want to do either. "Sorry, Sa--sir." He ducked his head, and jerked when he felt a hand land on top of it.

Sam ruffled his hair, and murmured, "Through eating breakfast, or you feel like some company?"

- - -

Dean didn't seem like himself, which was scary in a whole other way from seeing him as a little kid. Sam wanted to shake him and demand that he behave in his usual, sarcastic, smart-alecky way. But he got the feeling that if he did that, his brother was going to burst into tears.

So instead, he tried for a friendly conversation as Dean picked at the rest of his breakfast. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"I donno," Dean replied, and gave a little shrug that elicited a barely perceptible wince.

"Hey," Sam said, a bit too sharply, "Is your arm hurting you?"

"No," Dean lied, and Sam scowled at him. "I mean, yeah, a little," Dean squeaked, and Sam realized he'd actually managed to intimidate his usually imperturbable brother.

"Dean," he asked, "What's going on? You're acting weird, man."

"I'm just trying to get used to the empathy, that's all," Dean said, and he sounded way too tired for a seven-year-old. He sounded weary. Sam didn't like it, not at all.

"Come on," he relented, "Let's get out of here. You need to take something for your arm and shoulder. And maybe you could use a nap, too," he finished, trying to make a joke.

Dean glared at him, and Sam felt a little better.

- - -

In the Impala, Dean leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. His face vibrated and tickled his nose, but he ignored it. Sam, on the other hand, was a little harder to shut out.

"You're not acting like yourself, Dean," he said, for what--the gazillionth time, already?

"Leave me alone, Sammy," Dean retorted, not even bothering to open his eyes.

He felt anger flare, and sat up straight, eyes popping open as if by remote control. "What's with you, Dean? This _isn't_ because of the empathy--I can tell that much. So tell me what's going on with you," Sam went on, concentrating more on the road than Dean's reaction.

Dean felt the barely controlled frustration, the near-seething anger, and he shrank back against the door. He didn't want to be near Sam anymore. He wanted to get out, he wanted to go for a long walk and never come back.

He'd had no idea Sam hated him that much...

"What?" Sam demanded, "You can't even bother to answer me, anymore?" He glanced at Dean, and his mouth came open, and his eyes went wide for a moment. "Dean? Hey, are you okay?"

Dean felt the anger fade into concern and worry, and he relaxed a little, and nodded. "Yeah..."

"You look pale," Sam stated, frowned, again annoyed at Dean for whatever reason. Had he maybe misread the worry? Did Sam care at all, or was he just responsibly guilty?

"I'm okay," Dean said, and sagged against the door. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.

- - -

Dean had fallen asleep on the car-ride back to the motel, but now he was awake and restless. Sam was out getting them some burgers for lunch, and he'd conveniently left his laptop, so Dean decided to do a little job-search for a new hunt.

He was zoning out, maybe because of the pain-killer Sam had forced him to take, or maybe because he was hungry, and it occurred to him that he'd never asked Jake if he had any _living_ relatives.

He ran a search for "Jake O'Conner, Oregon" and came up with Jake's obituary. He _really_ didn't want to be reading it, so he skimmed the few paragraphs until his eyes fell on the sentence, "He was survived by his younger brother, Christopher O'Conner."

Dean stared at the screen of the laptop, mouth hanging open. He snapped out of it then and hurried to search for the brother's whereabouts, not really expecting to find anything. He ran through lists and lists of family trees and names... until he happened upon another news article.

It was from years ago... 1982 to be exact. Dean let out a little breath and read...

It was about the house fire... 'Katherine O'Conner had died mysteriously. Jake O'Conner said he had no idea what had happened... his brother, Chris O'Conner, had been with him at the hospital, waiting to find out if his daughter would be all right. He'd taken Jake in for awhile after his daughter, Tracey, also died... from smoke inhalation, the doctors theorized.'

Dean sagged back against the chair, then straightened up again, realizing he could figure out where Chris was from the news article. The town was right there, so Chris must have been living there too...

He found him in the yellow pages, online, and the phone number. Breathing so quickly he felt like he was about to hyperventilate, Dean scavenged for his cell then dialed the number with trembling fingers. It had to be the right one... right?

"Hello?" a male voice said, and the tones of it were so familiar that Dean felt himself grow lightheaded.

"Hi," he replied, nervously, and then cleared his throat.

"Who is this?" the man questioned, sounding a little amused.

"It's..." Dean said, "I'm..." Who was he, exactly? A friend of Jake's? He got the feeling that wasn't going to be believable. "Can I come talk to you in person?" Maybe this was it... maybe this was why Jake was sticking around. It would make a lot of sense for him to want to bring Sam and Dean closer together, while at the same time, forgetting he had an estranged younger brother, himself.

But _was_ Chris estranged?

"Are you sure you have the right guy?" Chris asked.

Dean bit his lip. "Chris O'Conner, brother of Jake O'Conner, whose daughter and wife were Tracey and Katherine?"

There was the sound of a sharp intake of breath. "Yeah," Chris answered, after awhile. "That's me..."

"Please," Dean resorted to begging, "Can I come see you?"

"Are your parents going to bring you?" Chris asked, something in his voice saying that he wasn't sure he wanted Dean to come. Dean wasn't quite sure he wanted to go, either.

"Yeah," Dean lied, and started calculating how to get there in his head. He could take the bus... he thought he probably had enough cash. Wait, hadn't Sam gotten a little extra the other day? He'd take that fifty too, just in case something went wrong. And... he'd leave a note this time.

"All right," Chris agreed. "I have a dog... don't be scared if he barks. He's trained to do that to strangers." The warning was a little weird, but Dean figured it was good to know.

"Thanks," he said, "I'll be there around midnight." He hung up before Chris could disagree, scribbled a note to Sam, then grabbed all the money he could find, making sure to leave a little bit for Sam.

"Sorry, Sammy," he murmured as he closed the motel room door behind him. "I gotta do this. I don't know why, but just don't freak out, okay?"


	7. Chapter Seven

**"Heal Thyself"**

**Chapter Seven  
**

Sam got back with a couple of burgers only to find that the motel room was empty. At least this time, Dean had left a note. Although, when Sam read it, he was actually less happy than he'd been without it.

"Crap," he said, and started stuffing things back into duffel bags. He needed to go after Dean before he got himself into trouble. Dean _knew_ the sorts of things that were out there--all the boogie-men and monsters... So why the heck had he gone off on this wild goose chase, all on his own, a little kid without an adult around...?

"Crap," Sam muttered again, and went out to the car with both duffel bags. He wasn't about to waste any time making multiple trips. And if the manager wasn't around, he was just going to leave the darn keys on the desk. Screw good manners, or whatever the heck it was called. Integrity, maybe... But he had a feeling he'd worn off the edges on his a long time ago, anyway.

- - -

Dean was pretty sure a pervert had been staring at him for a few hours. Long bus rides were definitely not his thing--he preferred the Impala. He was more than glad when the bus finally reached his stop. He managed to get off quickly, and headed away to find a taxi.

The cab-driver gave him a strange look, but didn't complain when Dean handed over the fifty and told him the address he wanted to get to.

Chris was right--the dog barked at him. Loudly. And he also scrabbled his claws on the fence. It was a large, black dog... a Rottweiler mix, for sure. Dean swallowed and started to reach out to the fence's gate.

"No!" someone shouted, and Dean froze. A man ran out of the house and down the front yard. He grabbed the dog by his collar and yanked him back. "Kid, you really should've come with your parents," the guy said, and Dean swallowed.

He looked a lot like Jake, and he sounded almost the same, too. "I kinda ran away," Dean admitted, then shrugged.

Chris shook his head but motioned for Dean to enter. "Okay, we'll talk about that inside. Don't pay attention to Rafe--he gets like this with strangers, always has..."

"Maybe you should send him to the pound," Dean said, and wished he could gag himself.

"Yeah," Chris replied, smiling a little. "But I guess he reminds me of my dad. You believe in reincarnation?"

That didn't exactly speak well of the man's father. Reincarnation insisted that if you didn't do well in your previous life, you came back as a lower life-form. "Don't really believe in anything," Dean answered, following the man back up the path to his front steps.

"Why does Rafe remind you of your dad?" Dean pried, and wondered how much longer this foot-in-mouth crap was going to keep up.

Chris released the belligerent animal, shoved Dean inside the house, and slipped in himself, shutting the door behind him with a bang. He leaned against it and grinned. "My father beat me and my older brother black and blue until we got it into our heads to go find a place together. He was eighteen, and I was thirteen. He practically raised me, then went on to get married and have a kid. And I guess life just threw him a crappy hand, or something, 'cause he lost them both. He ran off into hiding, until he died a few weeks ago of a heart attack."

Dean swallowed. "I know that part." He didn't know he was going to say it until he did. "It's my fault."

"What?" Chris demanded, and Dean backed away. It was shock coming off the guy in sparks, but it could turn to anger at any moment.

"I..." Dean began. "He healed me... of a knife-wound, and it killed him."

Chris didn't react with disbelief like he'd expected. Instead, he sagged against the door and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. "You know," he said, straightening after a moment and appraising Dean with dark, half-familiar eyes. "You remind me of him, a little bit. That jacket... those sneakers." He frowned. "I'm pretty sure he used to wear something like that when we were kids. He wouldn't go anywhere without them. Maybe 'cause we didn't have much else to wear..."

Frowning, Chris moved off from the door and headed into the house. "Want something to drink?" he called over his shoulder, and Dean followed him, hesitantly.

"Yeah, sure," he said, and Chris questioned, "Your dad break your arm?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, completely thrown. Then he realized Chris wasn't necessarily talking about John. "No, uh... someth--someone else did. Are you drunk?"

Chris didn't act like someone who was particularly sober.

"Yeah, maybe a little," the man admitted, a wry smile touching his lips as he turned back to offer Dean a coca-cola. "I doubt I've been completely sober in the last few weeks... since Jake kicked the bucket, that is." He turned back to the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the top and took a long drag while letting the fridge door shut on its own.

Leaning against the counter and letting out a satisfied sigh, he asked Dean, "So what brings you here? Besides Jake?"

Dean thought, '_Screw it'_ and blurted out, "He's a ghost now. I was thinking maybe it's because he has some sort of unfinished business with _you._"

Chris sipped thoughtfully. "Like the fact that we hadn't talked in years because every time we saw each other, we thought of good ol' dad?"

He almost sounded like Sam. "I--" Dean began, and that's when the frenzied barking started up.

Dean's eyes widened, and he figured out quickly who must be causing the barking. He went running before Chris could even put down his beer and call after him, "Wait! Kid, don't go out there by yourself! Rafe'll kill you!"

Rafe was gonna kill _Sam_ if he didn't warn him, Dean thought, and yanked the door open. The dog had Sam backed up against the fence, fending it off with some big stick he must've found on the ground. He looked like he was in full-panic mode, and when he noticed Dean he shouted, "Dean! Get away from here!"

The dog turned, saw an unprotected target and barged at him full-tilt. Dean's eyes had barely widened, when someone grabbed him and yanked him out of the way. He heard the dog whimper, and realized a second later, that it was because Chris had kicked it on the muzzle.

"Get out of here!" he called to it, and it ran off, tail between its legs, whimpering.

"No wonder it hates everyone," Dean said, and then shocked himself by bursting into tears.

Chris looked more panicked than Sam had just a minute ago. "Uh, kid..." he half reached out, then dropped his arms to his sides and gazed at him, helplessly.

Sam was there, scooping Dean into his arms a moment later. "Hey, hey, it's all right," he murmured into Dean's hair, and Dean didn't even feel the urge to snark a well-deserved, "Get off of me," at him.

"Who are you?" Chris asked, and Sam's arms around him tightened up a little.

"I'm Dean's father." '_Oops. Wrong thing to say, Sammy.'_

"You're his dad, huh?" Chris wondered, a bit too calmly. "Mind telling me how he got that broken arm?"

"He fell," Sam lied, and Dean winced. Now that he was calm, he should be getting down on the ground. But he didn't feel like moving or looking up at Chris. But then, he could feel his suspicion and anger just fine without even having to look at his expression.

"Really?" Chris replied, "So that's why he ran away? 'Cause he fell?"

"What is this?" Sam retorted, "And interrogation?"

Chris was silent for a moment, then he said quite coldly, "I'm a cop. If I figure out that you're beating your son, you're going down."

"I think we're leaving," Sam answered, just as frigidly, but just then the temperature dropped in a more physical way.

Dean brought up his head and looked around, just as he felt Sam go still. There he was--Jake, standing at Chris's shoulder, gazing at Sam and Dean, sadly. _"Tell him... I didn't want...hi-- to be --itter... te-- him... please tell him..."_

"What the heck are you two staring at?" Chris demanded, and Dean flinched. The man was angrier than Sam right now, and that was saying something. Sam didn't like to be accused of things he hadn't done, and he didn't like cops anymore than Dean did, although he'd always been more willing to play by the rules.

"Your brother," Dean said, "He was standing right there."

"What are you talking about?" Chris didn't believe him, and Dean was far too tired to argue.

"S--Dad," he said, quickly correcting himself, "Come on, let's go."

"Hold on just a minute," Chris snapped. "You're both staying, or I'm turning you in, you got me?"

"You can't keep us here," Sam retorted, and Dean shrank from both their tempers. He really didn't want to be in the middle of this emotional war zone.

"Yeah, well it's either that, or I call social services on you, so what'll it be?"

Stalemate, Dean realized, and looked up at Sam's stony features. This was _not_ going to be a fun holiday.

- - -

**A/N:** Okay, seriously, at first, Chris is a complete spaz, but I guess when I was writing it, I already knew the reason, so it wasn't as weird to me as it is now, reading it over again. But really, he's a lunatic, huh? -shakes head- Gotta love 'im. :D

And, more important stuff: yes, this is all finished already, just the posting needs to be done. And that's dependent on different factors, like what mood I'm in, how lazy I'm being, or how much home work I have to finish. So, I'll try to post quickly, but you know how life happens, and all.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N:** OMG. _I_ totally have empathy! Do you believe me? Probably not, huh? Well, I can't prove it, so I'll just have to keep writing stories to satisfy all my complexes. Heheh. Btw, three, or so, more chapters after this. Enjoy. :)

- - -

**"Heal Thyself"**

**Chapter Eight  
**

Dean remembered the way Jake had grilled him about Dad, and now he was starting to wonder if it was because of his own childhood...

"How long has he been wearing these clothes?" Chris demanded, and Sam's irritation grew. The older man was holding out Dean's hoody, after just getting through sniffing it experimentally. Dean, meanwhile, sniffed his own arm pit and realized he was in need of a serious bath.

"You can't just let the kid go around wearing the same clothes for a week," Chris continued, and Dean blinked at him.

He and Sam were sitting on the man's couch, and although he'd given in to the temptation of being close to Sam before, Dean was now on one end of the couch, and Sam on the other. "He hasn't been," Sam said, tightly, "He just-- We moved, and I don't have any other clothes for him but those."

_'Way to go, Sammy,'_ Dean complimented, sarcastically. _'Now he's _really_ going to think you're a great dad.'_

"You left his clothes behind," Chris stated, flatly. He looked like he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. "I should report you just for that."

"If you're a police offi--" Chris didn't even let him finish.

"Police _detective,_" he snapped, tossing Dean's hoody on the couch, where Dean had left it in the first place.

"Whatever," Sam said, "Should you really be drinking that much? You're not going to be fit for duty by tomorrow, and I'm assuming you work on weekdays."

Chris looked none too happy to be lectured, but instead of saying anything in return, he asked Dean, "Are you hungry, kid?"

Dean took a moment to consider the state of his stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and Sam hadn't bothered to bring the hamburgers, he'd gone out to buy before Dean had left, along with him. And even if he had, he probably would've thrown them to Rafe to keep the dog from killing him, instead of picking up a big stick.

"Yes, sir," he answered, and Sam gave him a reproachful glare. He always complained that Dean didn't have a mind of his own... But then, Dean had never really been obedient to anyone but their father. So what was Sam really trying to say?

"Okay," Chris said, "What do you want to eat? I've got..." He frowned, tucked his hands in his pockets, and let his eyebrows go up. "I've got nothing, actually. But let me go look, anyway." He grinned and went off to the kitchen.

"Dean," Sam said, as soon as Chris was gone. "We're in trouble here."

"As soon as he finds out we're--" Sam glanced towards the kitchen. "Well, it's not going to be pretty."

"_I'm_ not gonna be the one that gets arrested, Sam," Dean replied in a low whisper. "I think _you_ will--and it's probably gonna be for kidnapping, along with all the other stuff."

"Crap, you're right," Sam hissed, then said, "We're Sam and Dean Taylor, got it?"

He nodded, and about that time, Chris came to the doorway and waggled a box of pasta at them. "You want mac and cheese?"

Dean grinned, and Sam rolled his eyes. Chris smiled, slightly, and went back into the kitchen. "It'll be awhile. Flip on the TV if you get bored."

Dean found the remote in record time and turned the television on. Sam gave him a look that could clearly be read as "annoyance," but Dean didn't need to be good at body language to know that. The--whatever it was between him and Sam was getting stronger, and Dean didn't think he was going to be able to shut his brother out at all if it kept up. The thought freaked him out and comforted him all at once.

"Dean, out front... you were crying," Sam began, and Dean almost put up his hands to cover his ears. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to hear Sam asking about this stuff--he was fine. He was handling it.

"That's not normal for you," Sam continued, "Tell me what's going on."

Dean glared at the TV, but he couldn't concentrate on it anymore. "Dean," Sam prodded, and he finally gave in.

"I think it's 'cause I'm a kid, Sam," Dean sighed, "What else do you want to hear? That I think we're getting this freaky link-thing? We are. And pretty soon, if it keeps up, it's gonna be goin' both ways, Sammy. So just wait awhile, and you'll know what I'm feeling without having to beat it out of me."

"That's unfair," Sam retorted, voice rising just a bit. He glanced toward the doorway, guiltily. Dean could feel how stung he was.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Sam felt even worse. He was feeling guilty about something, but Dean couldn't guess what it was. _He_ hadn't been responsible for doing this to Dean.

"Just--" Sam began, sharply, then stopped himself, took a deep breath, and went on, "Just tell me what's going on with you, okay? I can help. If you'll just_ let_ me."

Chris came out from the kitchen, carrying two plates. He set one on the coffee table in front of Dean, and handed the other to Sam. "I'll be back--just gotta get the sodas. You want coke, Sam? Uh, never mind, it's all I got." He wandered off again, and Sam looked down at the macaroni on his plate. It looked sort of orange...

He took a bite and decided that it was okay, if a bit on the chewy side. Dean had already started digging into his since the moment Chris had left it on his table. He probably hadn't even noticed the strange color...

Chris returned with the sodas, then went off again, saying in a near-mumble, "Gotta get mine."

When he came back, he had a beer in his hand and a plate of macaroni. Sam gave him a look, and Dean, who was kneeling in front of the coffee table, eyes glued to the TV, and mouth filled with cheesy mac, turned to look at them.

His green eyes were wide enough that Sam noticed the gold around his pupils. Chris finished up eating, got up, grabbed the hoody and went off with it to the kitchen, came out without his plate and empty beer can, then went off to another part of the house with the hoody.

While he was gone, Sam asked, "Is he okay? I mean... he seems kind of out of it."

Dean shrugged. "He's probably just drunk... and annoyed with you."

Sam narrowed his eyes for a second. "I don't like him."

"Could've fooled me," Dean retorted, dryly.

"He's a drunk," Sam began, and started to compare him to John, "If Dad had had half a chance, he'd have been like--"

Dean didn't have the opportunity to refute Sam's opinion because a frightened shout emerged from another room of the house. Sam exchanged a glance with him, and Dean and he went running in search of Chris.

They found him in the hall, next to the washing machine and dryer. He was staring down the opposite end of the hall from where Dean and Sam entered. And as Dean came around to take a look at him, he could see that he was pale.

"Chris?" he asked, and Sam hung back, a frown on his already serious face.

Chris looked down, and then up again, toward the end of the hall. "I thought I saw..." he began to say, in a low voice, but then shook his head and turned away, motioning toward the washing machine. "Cleaning your jacket..."

Dean lifted a brow toward Sam, and received a shrug in return. "Did you see your brother?" he asked, and Chris gave him a look that said clearly, _'Even if I did, I'm never going to admit it, so back off.'_

So, he reached out carefully, wanting to test how far he could push it with his empathy. He felt fear more than anything, but there was something else there... a sadness. Before he realized what was happening, Dean had tears leaking down his cheeks. He sniffed and swiped them away with the back of his sleeve and stared hard at the floor. Sam took his arm and tried to turn him to get a look at his face. Dean jerked his arm away, but his shoulders hitched, and Sam knelt down and took both of Dean's arms in his huge hands.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, softly, and Dean shouted, "Nothing!" in that whiny, little kid voice that usually warned of approaching tantrums. God, he hated being a little brat.

Chris said, "Maybe just needs some sleep. Go ahead and take the guest room. The bed's big enough for you both."

He motioned toward a door a little ways up the hall, and then turned and strode back in the direction of the living room. Sam lifted Dean into his arms, even though Dean tried to protest, "I don't need... Sammy! Putmedown..."

"Time for bed," Sam retorted, evilly, and Dean sighed, buried his face in Sam's shoulder, and gave in.


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N:** Hey guys, btw, just wanted to let you know that I feel as if I'm surrounded by awesomeness. You guys are great! Thanks for everything. Enjoy the chapter. :)

- - -

**"Heal Thyself"**

**Chapter Nine  
**

Chris tossed and turned until his blankets wrapped themselves around his legs in all sorts of uncomfortable ways. He didn't care... He would never get comfortable enough to forget. Jake was dead, their father had been dead for years, and Jake's baby girl and wife were dead, too. And the only one left was him--the good-for-nothing, drunk of a brother.

He'd gone and gotten a dog from the pound right after Jake had keeled over because he thought it would help, but the poor thing had been abused. It had attacked him the first time he moved his hand a little too fast to pet it, and he'd lost his temper and kicked it until it let go. And after that, he tried to be patient, but every time it bit him, he "bit" back until it was meaner than... well, him.

He'd sort of been serious when he'd told Dean, sometimes he thought that maybe the dog was his father. It reminded him of the man a little too much. That's why he'd named him Rafe. It was his dad's name.

Sometimes, he even felt like his father was still around in spirit, yelling at him because he couldn't beat him up anymore. Other times, he thought the man was in hell, for sure.

But whenever he came back to reality, he'd realize the man was dead and gone. But Chris still felt the chains around him, holding him back from being normal, happy. He'd never make it up to Jake by settling down and starting a family. He couldn't--he was just too twisted by his past.

And what rational woman would marry a cop that was obsessed with his job? Maybe a man that could separate his work from his home life, but Chris got too wrapped up in case after case, always seeing himself in every victim... or worse, seeing Jake.

Seeing Jake...

He'd been at the end of the hall, like some sort of special-effect stepped out of a horror movie. He'd flickered and shorted out like a bad picture on the television, and then, he'd said something.

"_You can change, Christy. You don't have to be bitter."_

And that's what got Chris most of all. Jake had used the old nickname their mom had called him before she died. After that, the only one allowed to call him that was Jake... And only in private because Chris hated it so much.

_"God, it's so sissy! Will you just quit it?" Chris demanded of his older brother._

_"But it's sweet," Jake teased, "Christy O'Conner. It's so romantic, like something out of a novel, or something. You want to grow up to write novels, right?"_

_"No."_

_"Oh, right--that's me. Yeah, you wanna be a... karate master?" Jake pretended to be clueless, but even at twelve, he knew more than most kids his age._

_"Whatever," Chris retorted, "I'm gonna go meet Randy at the park."_

_"A police detective," Jake said, a serious look in his dark eyes. He was trying to tell Chris something without actually saying it. He always got that look when he wanted his younger brother to pay close attention._

_So Chris sat up straighter in the kitchen chair, and let his spoon slide down into his mixed-up, squishy cereal. "And you will be," Jake continued, "'Cause you're special, Christy. Don't let anyone tell you something else."_

Chris remembered ducking his head and mumbling something about going to the park. He should've said "thank you," or "I love you" or something. He should've known what a great brother he had, he should've stayed in touch... he should've, could've, would've, but he hadn't.

He'd let time pass, and he'd let distance grow, and Jake was dead now, and Chris hadn't ever told him how much he was thankful for all the things he'd sacrificed to get them away from their father.

"'Don't be bitter,'" he mumbled up at the dark ceiling. "'Change...' Don't you know I_ can't_ change, Jake? God, I wish I could, but I've tried, and I've tried... and I just end up going back to the same old things, in the same old circles. It never stops..."

But maybe that was a lie. Maybe he wasn't really trying, maybe he really could change, and he just didn't want to. Maybe he was just evil so far down that no one could save him, not even if it _was_ Jake he'd seen in the hallway, not even if his own brother had come back from the grave to try.

- - -

Sam watched as Chris took a gun and placed it to his temple. As he squeezed the trigger, Sam tried to call to him to stop, to not kill himself, but it was already too late. Blood splattered on the wall to the left of Chris's bed, and the dead man slumped onto the floor, gun still held limply in his right hand.

"Oh... God!" Sam shot up in bed, hands to his throbbing skull.

Dean screamed, flailed, and grabbed for him. "Sammy! Sam!" he cried out, and Sam forgot about his killer headache for a moment to turn and switch on the lamp before trying to calm his brother down.

"Dean, hey, hey," he called, and gripped the boy's arms tightly to keep him from swinging at him, intentionally or unintentionally. "It's okay, it's okay."

Dean panted, but finally his breathing evened out, and then his eyes cleared up, and he asked, "Sam?"

"Vision," Sam said, and let go of Dean, hoping he hadn't left bruises. He hadn't even thought about moderating his grip. He got out of bed, and started for the bathroom adjoined to the guest room, but Dean called, "Sam!"

Sam turned back, and Dean questioned, almost frantically, "What was it? What did you see? Was it the demon?"

"No," Sam answered, with a grimace, and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I'll tell you in a sec, 'kay?" he questioned, but disappeared into the bathroom before Dean could respond.

When he recovered enough that he didn't feel like he was going to vomit his brains out through his eyes, Sam came out of the bathroom, and went to lay down next to Dean. He switched the light off again, and waited.

"What was it?" Dean grilled, sounding more like himself now, even with the little Fievel, the Mouse voice.

Sam wasn't certain he should tell him, but he did anyway, "Chris. He killed himself. Shot himself with his Glock."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and wondered, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, grimly, and leaned a little closer to Sam. "We have to stop him."

"Yeah," he agreed. "What I don't get is why I'd have a vision about the guy. He has nothing to do with the Yellow-eyed Demon. He isn't even another psychic!"

Dean was silent for a bit too long, and Sam shifted toward him, slightly. "Dean... There something you're not telling me?"

"Dude! How the heck do you manage to sound so much like Dad sometimes?" He sounded slightly disgusted, and Sam blinked.

"Hey, I would've thought you'd want another Dad around, now that you've got everything else you've ever wanted. To be a little kid again, having someone boss you around all the time, never have to make any decisions yourself--"

"Hold it right there," Dean growled, and sat up. "What gives you the right to say crap like that to me? Aren't I still the older brother? You don't even know what you're saying, do you? You're just spewing out junk from who knows how long that you've got stored up in that fat head of yours. I'll bet you've saved that one since you ran off to college and left me to be Dad's good, little soldier!"

"What?" Sam asked, and sat up also. "What the _heck_, Dean?"

Dean was very still for a long time, not saying anything. Sam just waited, not trying to get a reaction, or answer, or anything. Maybe he was pretending to be asleep, or something, to avoid having to answer.

Sam didn't get a word his brother had said. Why would he think that Sam had been...? No, why would he say something like that? Sam had always believed that Dean had been a_ willing_ trainee to their father's drill sergeant. What if he hadn't wanted that sort of life? What if, like the shape-shifter had said, he'd wanted something different?

When Dean finally said, in a tone that held a sort of self-deprecating humor in it, "Look, forget it... Maybe all these kiddie hormones are getting to me, or something. We've been fighting like we're in grade school again."

"Dean, don't do that," Sam pleaded, "Just talk to me, _please_. I want to know what you meant. Come on, don't let it be like with Jake and Chris--don't let things end like that."

Dean tried to argue, "I'd never let that happen," but Sam shook his head, even though Dean couldn't see it in the dark, and interrupted, "You don't know that. Especially with how we live, you don't know, Dean."

There was deep quiet for a moment, but Sam forced himself to wait. It was now or never. If he pushed anymore, Dean would retreat into his shell again.

"You know... I've always admired you for being able to stand up to Dad, right?" Dean began, a sad smile in his voice. It was even worse hearing that from a little kid, like hearing a disappointed, rejected child. Like hearing the class clown admitting that he'd rather be the dork if it'd make the other students take him seriously.

"Yeah," Sam replied, quietly, remembering the time that Dean had said it once before. He'd almost gone to California to look for John, and Dean had called him, asking for help with the scarecrow hunt. The admission had taken Sam completely by surprise...

"Yeah, well, I guess I never learned to do that, or something," Dean admitted, "Even when I wanted to, I just somehow shut my mouth and stuffed it down. I could only argue with him when you were there, backing me up. And I could only do that because I knew that if I didn't, it'd mean you getting hurt or something. I mean, I doubt I even cared what happened to me, so long as you were okay at the end of a hunt."

"Dean," Sam breathed, but Dean cleared his throat nervously, and went on.

"And then you left, and I never learned how to say "no," so I just... I guess... I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're right about me. I can't think for myself."

"Dean," Sam growled, "Don't say that... You think for yourself. Heck, you boss me around like you have enough opinions for two people. What are you saying? That you're some kind of robot? Dean, you're the anti-robot. You could never be some sort of mental-drone."

Dean laughed humorlessly. "Sam... come on. That's not what I'm saying..."

"Then what are you saying?" Sam exploded, in exasperation.

"I'm..." Dean replied, "I'm saying that I keep looking for someone to take his place, and I know that I should know by now without him. But I don't. I'm just lost, and empty, and alone. Even when you're here, even when I have you in the back of my mind, I'm still by myself. I can't change, Sammy."

Sam sat there in stunned silence, and was startled when he felt Dean snuggle back up beside him. He lay back against the pillow, and let his arm wrap around his brother. Why did he feel so alone? Sam wondered. Wasn't he holding Dean, right now? Couldn't he feel that "freaky-link" thing that was growing between them? Then why did Dean still feel like he was by himself?

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean murmured, sleepily, "You'll never figure it out. Heck, I've tried, and I still can't."


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N:** Hi again! 'Nother chapter, and I was off by one. So there are actually two more chapters after this one. (Maybe more.) It's kinda short huh? Hope you don't mind. _L._**  
**

**- - -  
**

**Chapter Ten**

Dean was pretty sure he knew why Sam had the vision. He just didn't want to _tell_ Sam why he'd had the vision. He'd even gone so far as to distract his brother by bringing up "issues." It'd been a dumb-butt move, but he'd been desperate.

If Sam knew that Chris was probably a psychic, too, then there would be no telling how much he'd distrust the guy, then. Look at Andy--he'd thought Andy was a murderer. _Andy._

And it all boiled down to Sam not trusting himself, really. He thought that he was going to turn into some sort of monster, and so he turned that fear on every other psychic, when it was really himself he was the most scared of. And now that Dean could get inside his head and see that, it was starting to freak him out too. 

"You're up early."

Dean practically jumped out of his skin and looked up, seeing Chris standing there in the doorway to the kitchen. He'd been sitting at the table, staring into his bowl of Life, the only thing he could find to eat for breakfast in the guy's cupboard.

"Um... yeah," he replied, and Chris sat down to his right.

"Okay," he said, out of nowhere, "I'm a drunk; your dad's right. You shouldn't trust me--all I'm good for is a place to stay for awhile, and then you'll just hit the road again and disappear. Am I right?"

Dean averted his eyes, then realized too late that it was a dead giveaway. He sighed, and told Chris, "He doesn't trust you, but he's not my dad. He's my older brother."

That admission was met with complete silence. But inside, Dean felt a strange, sinking sensation that wasn't really his own. He looked up, and saw that Chris was looking pretty green around the gills. "You okay?"

"Fine," he answered, "Does your brother hit you?"

"No!" Dean retorted, vehemently. If anyone hit anyone, it'd be him hitting Sam. He'd done it more than once over the years. Twice, recently, actually...

"Then what's with the broken arm?" Chris asked, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay, the truth is... weird. That's why we lied about it. You wouldn't believe us," Dean said, and shrugged.

Chris frowned, eyes narrowed suspiciously, then he asked, "Are you even really a kid? Or are you some sort of special midget?"

Dean burst into laughter, then stopped himself when he saw that Chris was serious. "I'm really a kid--physically. But mentally, I'm a twenty-seven year-old man."

"Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa," Chris said, and leaned back in his chair and waved his hands in a "stop" motion. "Hold it right there. Is that some sort of brainwashing your big brother gave you so that he could, you know... do some hanky-pan--"

"Whoa!" Dean interrupted, "Dude! Don't even go there." He shuddered. Chris let out a relieved sigh.

"Okay, then you're being very literal, right?" he asked, and Dean nodded, carefully.

"You got turned into a child, somehow?" Chris went on, looking skeptical but somehow open to the possibility.

"Yeah, I think your brother did it," Dean replied. "He could somehow bring me over in astral form to him, but as a little kid. I know it sounds weird, but that's how we met."

Chris stared at him for a moment, but then asked, very calmly, "So you met my brother in astral form and...?"

"And he wanted to help me with... my emotional junk," Dean said, then cleared his throat.

Chris stared at him, then abruptly rose from his chair, muttering, "I need a beer." He opened the refrigerator and got one out then returned to his seat, and popped the top, while Dean gave him a look.

"Don't you have work?"

"I'm suspended," Chris answered, flatly.

"Should've known," Dean retorted, under his breath, and Chris frowned.

"I get it," he said, while practically grinding his teeth. "I'm a piece-of-crap drunk, right? Just like my father?" He rose from his seat again, but this time he crossed over to the sink and poured out the beer's yellow, urine-like contents. "I can quit," he said, crunched the can in his hands and tossed it in the overflowing garbage. "I just don't have a freakin' reason to, kid. There's no point."

Dean felt a hollow ache, like a deep empty pit somewhere inside. And for a moment, he couldn't find his way out of it because it was just as bad as, if not worse, than his own loneliness and pain. Finally, he blinked away tears, pushed his soggy cereal away and got out of his seat.

"Hey, I'm the last guy to tell you it's worth it, but that doesn't mean you should go blowing your brains out or keep killing yourself slowly with alcohol." He drew closer to Chris as he spoke, but sensed that the man didn't want him anywhere near, and stopped halfway to where Chris leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Dean had heard somewhere that it was a self-protective gesture. Who knows, maybe from Sam, since he'd been into that method acting once.

Jake's brother stared at him for the longest time, and then he asked, "You're for real, aren't you? This is..." He laughed, almost hysterically, looking around as if his old house held some sort of answer that hadn't been there the other million times he'd seen it. "This is crazy. Astral-projecting, adults becoming little kids... Maybe the drinking's finally fried my braincells."

"This isn't a hallucination," Dean told him, sternly. "But you do have to snap out of it, or I'm going to stay a little brat..." He wanted to add "forever," but he'd probably grow up again, wouldn't he? And that was another thing he had to worry about--Sam ending up taking care of him, having to look after him all the time, make sure he didn't get hurt during hunts-- Heck, knowing Sammy, he probably wouldn't even _let_ Dean hunt.

And Dean couldn't live that way. Not with hunting being the second only thing left for him. And Sam knew well enough that he was the first.

Chris nodded, slowly. "I need to get help, is that what you're saying? Counseling? AA?"

Dean started to smart off, "You need to stop being so freakin' selfish--" He stopped. One, because it felt like an echo of something he'd once said to Sam, and two, because he'd just had an idea. "I think I can help," he said, and stepped forward.

Chris jerked back against the counter, demanding, "Hey, what are you--?" Dean grabbed hold of his wrist, closed his eyes and concentrated.

Before he could even think about the process, it'd already started--the warmth that made its way from his center and out through his hand. It left him, and it must've gone into Chris because a second later, he gasped and relaxed back against the counter as if he'd just been immersed in a warm, soothing bath.

Dean let go and gave the guy some space. Heck, if someone had just done that to him, he'd sure want some freakin' space. "I healed you... of the alcoholism. At least," he shrugged, "the physical part of it."

Chris lifted a shaky hand to his hair and ran his fingers through it. "That felt... beyond description. Tingly and warm, but..." he swallowed, "Beyond description."

Dean grinned, and just then they both glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen. Sam stood there, looking slightly out-of-it, yet still alert enough to be suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Your brother just healed me," Chris stated, regaining some of his usual obnoxious bluntness.

"He--?" Sam glared at Dean, and Dean shrugged, but inside, he was cringing. Sam was angry because they hadn't consulted first.

"He's suicidal, Sam," he said--almost begged, "What did you want to do? Wait until he was drunk enough to off himself?"

Sam sagged a little, motioned toward Chris, "So you healed his...?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, and just then the relief he felt over Sam no longer being angry sort of sunk in, and he had to take a deep breath and head for the closest chair.

Sam's eyes widened, and he hurried to Dean, crouching in front of him and taking his shoulders. "You okay?"

He nodded, but he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. "I think it's just the usual after-healing special."

"Right," Chris said, sarcastically, "So you got your energy drained or something, is that it?"

"You'd know," Dean answered, before he could stop himself, and Sam froze.

He slowly turned and looked at Chris, then he turned back to Dean and asked, very deliberately, "What?"

"Chris has a power," Dean said, "Don't know what, but I'm pretty sure he's got one."

As Sam stood up, and turned toward Chris as if he was getting ready to face off against an opponent, Dean looked toward the older man and pleaded, silently, _'I'm really sorry, man. It just slipped out... Now Sammy's gonna rip you a new one. Wish I'd kept my big mouth shut.'_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A/N:** Yesterday, I was freakishly not feeling well, so I didn't post. Hope it hasn't been that long a wait for you guys, and here's another chapter. Actually, by now, I'm a little confused, myself, about how many chapters are left. See, when I saved them, I skipped a chapter number, for some reason, so all my chapter calculations are kinda off. :D**  
**

**- - -  
**

**Chapter Eleven  
**

Chris glared at them both.

"So what is it?" Sam demanded, as if he really had the right to know.

"Why should I tell you? Just because your kid brother--"

"Older brother," Dean corrected, and looked mighty annoyed for such a little kid. It was actually kinda cute--the sort of cute that made Chris wish he could have a family.

"Whatever," he answered, though, "Just because Dean healed me, doesn't give either of you the right to know what I can do. I'm a freak, all right?" He shrugged, stiffly, "Isn't that enough information?"

"You're not a freak," Dean grumbled, and Chris glanced at him sharply. It was almost as if he was hearing Jake say it through him, which was the weirdest thing. And he wondered again why the clothes Dean was wearing seemed so much like that one, particular outfit that Jake had worn so often.

"Look, whether you're a freak or not doesn't matter," Sam snapped, "I'd just like to know what your power is, okay?"

Chris frowned, readjusted his position against the counter, and said, "I hardly ever use it anymore." He shrugged again. "It usually worked best when Jake was around, and as you can see--" He forced a grin and gestured at the room, "--he's not around, at the moment."

"Cut to the chase," Sam ordered, and Dean gave him a look, then tossed an apologetic one toward Chris. He was an empath, right? So he must've been feeling the irritation, Chris supposed.

"Psychometry," he said, with a quirky smile, "And sometimes visions of the past. It helps out in my line of work, but like I said, it used to be stronger when Jake was around."

"Psychometry," Dean said, "What's that?"

"Where you can touch an object and know where it comes from, right?" Sam replied, and gave Chris a questioning look.

He nodded at the kid, and then wondered, "And what's yours, Sammy?" He felt a twinge, calling the guy that. He'd always pretended to get angry at Jake for calling him "Christy," but here he was doing the same thing to Sam. _'What am I thinking?'_ he wondered, _'I'm acting like it matters... like I have a relationship with these two, when it's obvious that they're going to jet first chance they get.'_

Sam scowled. "I have death-visions... and sometimes I've been able to move things."

Chris raised a brow. "With your mind?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," he answered, then looked to Dean. "And you've got the empathy and healing... like Jake."

"Those were your brother's gifts?" Sam wondered, looking surprised, and Dean sat up a little straighter.

"Wait, I thought I told you that," Dean half-growled, and Sam blinked at him.

"You did. I guess it kinda slipped my mind. Wait, wait, wait," he murmured, hurriedly, using his hand for emphasis. "You have Jake's gifts, Dean. Maybe this whole turning into a kid thing isn't a coincidence. What if Jake is behind that, but what if he's behind your powers, too?"

Chris glanced back and forth between the two, but he was having trouble keeping up. "I thought we already established the fact that Jake had something to do with all this," Dean retorted.

"We thought _maybe_ he did," Sam corrected, "We weren't sure."

Chris jumped in, "Does this help, any? Dean is wearing something Jake used to wear almost all the time when we were kids. I could almost swear it's the exact same outfit."

"What?" Sam and Dean asked, almost simultaneously, and Chris felt a grin appear on his face.

It was really odd watching the two of them interact. Even though they were both guys, and Dean was just a kid, it was like seeing an old married couple, or something. Or two partners who'd been working together for a really long time.

"Yeah... and Jake's ghost is hanging around, let's not forget that," Chris reminded them.

Dean smacked his palm against his forehead a couple times. "Crap... this is actually starting to make sense. Either that, or I'm having a brain aneurysm." He hurried to explain, looking back and forth between them with wide, green eyes. "I'm possessed."

"What?" Sam demanded, and Dean shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

"Or... a medium," he said, "But I think it's safer to say that Jake's ghost is kinda of haunting me... in body."

"No, that's really not good," Sam said, nervously, "It means he's not gonna leave you alone until he gets whatever he wants."

Dean fidgeted with his hoody's zipper. "How old was he when he wore these?"

Chris examined the green hoody, closed his eyes and tried to picture Jake back then. He saw a kid, about fourteen or fifteen years old, making his bed, washing dishes, sweeping the floor... standing in front of him whenever their father blew up, tucking him in at night... hiding the bruises under a sweat jacket that never seemed to come off because there were always bruises to hide.

"I don't see how that matters," he said, opening his eyes and trying to will the lump in his throat to disintegrate.

Sam questioned, pulling out a chair and sitting so that he faced Dean, leaning forward, arms supported on his legs. "What are you onto, Dean?"

Dean squirmed in the kitchen chair. "I don't know yet..."

Chris asked, "So if you really somehow have Jake inside you, then can I talk to him, or what?"

The boy frowned at him, but he answered, "I don't know. It's not like this happens to me every day."

"Maybe I should read the Ritual," Sam muttered under his breath, and Chris glanced at him, sharply.

"As in the exorcism spell-thingy, or whatever it is?" he demanded. Sam and Dean remained silent, but Dean gave it away by guiltily ducking his head. "You are _not_ doing the Ritual thing on my brother."

_My brother..._

They all heard it, but none of them wanted to admit they'd heard it, Chris least of all. Had he just called Jake his brother, or had he somehow really been talking about Dean? Clearing his throat he tried to save face. "I want to know what Jake has to say to me, okay? You can't go casting him out of your brother's body, Sam."

Dean said, quietly, "Maybe if Jake knows you're gonna be okay, he'll leave. But I don't see how you can talk to him, if he's not even really possessing me--not technically. I mean, it's not like I hear his voice in my head, or anything."

Sam glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "I heard him... you're telling me you didn't?"

The kid got up from the chair. "Dude... that doesn't count. And why are we arguing about what to do, when it's obvious we need to get Jake's sorry butt in this room with us. Sam, you know a s_e_ance ritual?"

_"That's not necessary..."_ a voice told them, and Chris swung around to stare at the place to his right. There, next to the counter, was Jake, looking as pale and see-through as before. _"Christy, you've got to let it go,"_ he continued, a ghostly hand extending toward his brother's shoulder. It seemed to graze, but actually never touched Chris at all.

Chris's mouth dropped open, and stayed put. "Jake... how...?" He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Jake shook his head, sadly. _"Forget how. I don't have a lot of time, kid. You've got to forgive our father. Do you understand? You've got to forgive me, for leaving and not coming back... I couldn't deal with Katherine and Tracey's deaths, but that didn't mean I should've left you behind too. Please let it go, Chris. Just let it go."_

To Chris, it looked like Jake was crying, but he wasn't even sure if ghosts could cry. Swallowing at that stupid lump that kept reappearing, he whispered hoarsely, "How could you think I would hold that against you...?"

His older brother laughed softly, but with a trace of deep regret. _"It was hard for both of us because of the memories, but you can't keep living in the past. You've got to move forward, make a family of your own... Christy, I can't-- I have to go now... I love you."_ And he flickered, and blinked out before Chris could say the words that he'd neglected to say for all those years.

"I love you too," he said to the empty space in front of him, and it echoed deep inside, in that other empty spot, as well.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A/N:** XD Omg, ladies and gents! I can't believe this is it! I mean, like totally, I can't! Squee! Seriously... should I be allowed to end it here? I won't if you say so... I was thinking about adding a little something anyway, but the epilogue I already had didn't really appeal to me. (It was far too cheesy, even for me.) So, what do you think? It's possible, so if you want, I can add a little something, maybe an epilogue, but no more than a whole chapter, 'kay? _L._

- - -

**Chapter Twelve**

Dean saw Jake appear in front of Chris, and the next thing he knew, he was passing out. When he woke up again, Sam was kneeling next to him and asking, urgently, "Dean, Dean? Are you okay, man?"

He sat up, with a small groaning breath, and wondered, "What the _heck_?"

Sam chuckled kind of hysterically, and Dean wondered, "What? Why are you...?" He looked up, and saw Chris, back to him, beside the counter, shoulders shaking, slightly.

He was crying, and Dean could tell by his emotions that he wasn't exactly sad... just... alone. "What? I thought Jake...?" He looked at Sam again, who was smiling one of those huge, dorky smiles he usually reserved for the end of a successful hunt, or a nice sappy, chick-flick moment. "Would someone _please_ tell me what the heck is going on?" he demanded, but his voice told him the answer.

Eyes wide, he gestured toward himself questioningly, then stopped, and got to his feet, and Sam rose along with him, helping a little with the balance thing. He was nearly as tall as Sam, again. "Oh, God," he breathed, then, "Oh, thank you, God!"

Sam chuckled. "I think Jake's..." He stopped and looked toward Chris, guiltily.

Chris cleared his throat and turned toward them at a forty-five degree angle. "He's gone," he said. "I'm... I'll be outside." He left them alone in the kitchen, exiting through the back door, and Dean winced at the awkward feelings shooting themselves around the room like errant sparks from a bonfire.

"Man," Sam murmured, "Poor guy..."

"Yeah," Dean replied, "About him, Sammy...?"

"What?" Sam wondered, looking to Dean now, concern written into lines around his brows.

"Cut him some slack. He's not gonna go dark-side anymore than you are, and he needs... support. We're--" He chuckled uncomfortably. "We're the only family he's got."

Sam's eyes widened incredulously, but after a moment, he calmed down and accepted what Dean was trying to say. Before this empathy thing--and he definitely still possessed the empathy, even if Jake's healing power had left with his ghost--Dean hadn't realized how much of their communication was through familiarity and body language alone. Now he could see that they hardly even needed to _say_ things in actual words.

And even when they did, they managed to somehow botch it up or use so much subtext, it was almost like they weren't even speaking at all. Dean wondered how many people could actually understand them when they opened their pie holes.

"Okay," Sam said, drawing him from his thoughts, "I'll give the guy a break. Just... that whole family thing... does he feel that way, too? Or is this something you're making up?"

"Making it up--" Dean began, then stopped himself. "He's alone, Sam," he said, succintly, "He's got nobody. And when he said that he didn't want you to use the exorcism on 'his brother,' it was like he got poleaxed. I mean, even _you_ could feel it!"

Sam nodded, slowly. "Yeah. It was like he thought he'd made a _faux pas_, but he couldn't take it back because he didn't want us to know what he'd been thinking."

"Exactly," Dean replied, and decided to noogie Sam just because he was tall enough to reach the guy's head now.

Sam pushed him away, with feigned anger. "Stop it--"

"Okay," Dean agreed, and headed for the door. "You eat breakfast, and I'm gonna have a chat with our suicidal friend out there."

Sam nodded, and Dean left through the screen door. The barking started up almost right away, but thankfully, Chris had tied Rafe up to a tree. "You should really give him away," Dean said, with a sigh, and sat down next to Chris on the porch.

Chris snorted. "Yeah... and they'd have me arrested for animal abuse."

"You really are a mean cusser, aren't you?" Dean wondered, and Chris glanced over at him, crooked smile in place.

"Thanks for bringing Jake around... it was nice seeing him again," he said, and two tears slipped down his unshaved cheeks.

Dean shook his head. "I get the feeling he would've come to you even without me there. So, maybe you could honor that and do what he wanted."

Chris grimaced. "What? Forgive my father? Yeah... Like it's that easy."

"Forgive yourself," Dean answered, quietly, and Chris let out a soft breath. He hurt so much Dean wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, but he held back. Chris wasn't looking for comfort--he was looking for acceptance.

"I... I don't know, Dean," he said, quietly, eyes on the scraggley grass in his front yard. "I've screwed things up so much... I don't even have a job right now." He let out a breathy, derisive laugh. "You don't understand."

Dean thought about that for a moment, then thwapped the guy on the back of his head. "I get it, dumbutt. More than you know. Do you even realize who you're talking to? This is the dude that was almost willing to sell his soul just to get his dad back. I can't forgive him yet, either, for dying on my account."

Chris stared, and then scoffed, but not in a sarcastic way. In a sort of "oh" reaction. "That's tough," he said, "You want a drink?"

Dean thought he was serious for a second there, and then he realized Chris was joking. He grinned. "You know what? I think you're gonna be fine. Just..." He looked toward Rafe. "Stop beating the dog, man. That's just wrong."

- - -

Sam leaned against the inside of the front doorway. Dean was joking with Chris, and it was nice to hear. Strange thing was, though, he didn't feel left out at all. In fact, it was like he could actually sense what Dean was feeling.

Sam almost wanted to be jealous of Chris, but he just couldn't. He wasn't planning to be best-buds with the man, but he no longer felt an overwhelming suspicion and distrust, either.

"Hey, Dean, we ready to leave?" he asked, and his brother glanced up at him, a smile still lingering on his lips.

He grew serious though, and said, hesitantly, "Yeah... but, um, we'll be back to visit. Right, Chris?"

"Sure, drop in anytime," Chris said. He wasn't smiling, but somehow, that just made it more sincere. "And... uh... stop beating each other up." He pointed toward Dean's cast.

"I told you--" Dean began, thinking Chris was serious, but then interrupted himself with a chuckle.

_'He's actually joking with us,'_ Sam realized. And not in the sarcastic way from before. It wasn't a complete recovery, but it was a first step, anyway. It made him think the guy was actually going to be okay.

"Yeah," he said, and stepped forward and sat down beside Dean, then crooked his arm around his neck. "As soon as Dean stops being an idiot, I'll stop indiscriminately breaking his arms."

"Ah, shuddup, you big dork-face," Dean retorted, trying to shove him away, unsuccessfully.

Chris laughed. "Why don't you stay for as long as you need?" he offered. "I know you won't stick around forever," He shrugged, "But let me do my part, okay?"

Sam blinked. "In what, exactly?" Had Dean told him about their demon hunting?

"Dean said you guys deal with some weird crap," Chris answered his silent question. "Oh, and I got a little glimpse of my own from him, just a few minutes ago." He grinned wickedly, and for some reason, it reminded Sam of Dean for a second. Thankfully, it passed.

"Your visions of the past?" he questioned, and Chris nodded.

Dean finally managed to untangle himself from Sam's arm. "What'd you see?"

Chris smiled a little, like he was trying not to. "Never mind what I saw. Just... let me help out, okay?"

Sam shrugged, and looked toward Dean. "Why not?" he agreed, and Dean nodded, and looked at Chris.

"Yeah, I think we'll take you up on that," he said, grinning a little, "At least until my wing heals up."

Chris grinned. "Sure, for as long as it takes."


	13. Epilogue

**A/N:** The dream at the beginning reminds me of something... so I hope I'm not unintentionally stealing. Well, the whole epilogue makes me want to cringe, but I'm going to leave it. It's funny enough that I forgive it for being solely from Chris's POV. I hope you guys do too. (Oh, and if you don't want to get updates of the alternate ending (old version), feel free to take the story off your update list thingy.) L.

- - -

**Epilogue**

_Some months later_

Chris was having a dream, about hamburgers that floated away everytime he tried to catch one, when one of the hamburgers barked at him and started to slobber on his face. Vaguely, he heard giggling, and opened his eyes to Rafe's bristley mug, and heard the quiet snickers again, orginating somewhere near his bedroom doorway.

"Gah! Rafael! Get'off!" he yelled and pushed his big--now loveable--dog away from him, unsuccessfully.

The dark-haired woman standing in his doorway chuckled aloud, dispensing with the giggles and said, "He won't now... he loves you."

"Ber, some help?" he retorted, but was still in danger of being drowned by saliva.

The dog trainer rolled her big, brown eyes at him and came into his room, pulled Rafe down onto the floor by his collar, well, more like coaxed because, perversely, the hound was mindlessly obedient to her.

"Not _mindlessly_," Ber said, aloud, to him, and he shooed her away. She had a bad habit of reading his thoughts in the morning. "Oh, that's a new one. I read your thoughts in the morning, huh? Well, buster, I also make you coffee and keep your beautiful..." she started making the baby-voice, "... lovable dog..." her voice became normal... well, kinda cross and scolding, actually, "from chewing your cute, tasty ears off."

"Uh huh," he replied, and rolled out of bed, since neither of his house-guests were going to leave him alone, anyway, even though it was a Saturday morning.

"_I'm _not a guest," Ber retorted, "But you do have a couple..." He looked at her in surprise, pausing in getting his other leg into his jeans. "...out in the living room." She gave a low whistle. "Coupl'a cute brothers, actually. You have a secret past you're not lettin' me in on, bro?"

"Oh, my God!" Chris exclaimed, ignoring her playful comment. He grabbed a t-shirt from the floor, and put it on as he ran past her and Rafe, out into the living room.

Sam and Dean, in the flesh, looking a little beat up, frayed, but alive and well, and--"Boys!"

"Hey, hey! It's sleeping beauty," Dean greeted, as he got to his feet, and clasped Chris into a hug.

"Hah hah," he replied, and broke away to look for Sam, who was hanging back a little. He noticed, noticed Dean noticing, noticed Ber noticing Dean noticing and rolled his eyes. "Com'ere Sammy, before I have to noogie you too."

Sam grinned and they embraced, briefly. "Ber, this is Dean, and this is Sam... adopted siblings. Unlike you and Rafe, actually human beings, too."

"Oh, shut up, you dog-lover," she retorted, and Dean eyed her.

"Girlfriend?"

"Dog-trainer," Chris answered, and then, "Don't get any ideas. She's put me on probation, but I'm thinking that means she has long term interests."

Dean's eyebrows went up, and he averted his gaze, mouthing "o-kaaay" to himself. Sam, though, wasn't too shy to ask, "I take it you're living together?"

"A few months," Ber answered, "I think he figured it would be a good idea to keep a professional around, while he tried something new with Rafe."

Chris blushed and rubbed the back of his neck at the looks the two brother's were giving him. "She's serious. I took him to the training school where she works, and she said to let him in the house for a change. I told her he'd eat me alive while I wasn't looking."

Dean laughed, Sam looked highly chagrined. "And how've you two thugs been?" Chris wondered.

"Oh, you know..." Dean said, drawling it out. Of course, that meant he was prevaricating, but hey, at least Chris could tell.

"Yeah, uh-huh, planning to stay awhile to heal those broken ribs?"

"How did you--?" Dean started, and Chris grinned. "You sneaky--"

"Awhile, yeah," Sam interrupted, "And we'd really appreciate it." He metaphorically stepped on his brother's foot. "Right Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah... of course."

Ber hopped in before Chris could wholeheartedly welcome them home. "Great! You two can help me at the training school. You like mutts right? I mean, you both look like a couple of dog people--am I right?"

The brother's exchanged looks. Dean eyed Chris in a such a way that made him wonder if he was thinking, _'Where did you find _this_ one?'_

He clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder. "She has a calming effect on more than just dogs."

Dean leered, Sam muttered, "Too much information..." He laughed, reachedout to ruffle Sam's hair, and was summarily shoved away, while Dean snickered at the interchange.

Ber spoke into his mind, in a sweet, half-sleepy tone that she usually only got when she'd eaten too much, _'Seems I'm not the _only_ one that has a calming effect on you.'_

The End


	14. Chapter 4 Ver 1

**Note:** Okay, so this is the version I took down to put up the more recent version. It starts out the same, you'll notice, and I tend to do that a lot. Basically, I'm pretty lazy about rewriting.

I just wanted to let you know that in case you've already read it. I'm just putting it up because I didn't realize it'd been placed in a C2 before I impulsively took it down. So, for those of you who might have liked it, I didn't want it to get lost in the black hole known as my "other versions." :P L.

- - -

**Chapter Four**

A few blocks from the motel, Dean realized what a huge mistake it'd been. Every time he got close enough to even glimpse another human being, their feelings invaded his, and he could barely separate one from the other. He had a headache by the time he made it to a semi-secluded lot, somewhere toward the edge of town.

It was nice out there, no cars, hardly any houses, barely any people. He sat down in the tall grass, hoping there weren't any snakes or cow patties, and brushed his hands down the legs of his jeans. _'Jake. Why'd you stick around for me?'_

There was no answer, and Dean let out a long sigh and buried his forehead in his bony knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. And then the air seemed to grow chill, and he glanced up in time to see Jake, standing in the distance among the tall grass. He smiled once, a parting smile, then said, _"I didn't leave,"_ in a voice that sounded like a whisper spoken directly into Dean's ear.

"Jake..." he said, getting to his feet and beginning to walk toward the spot where he'd seen his friend's ghost last. He broke into a jogging run, but slowed to a halt, realizing that Jake was really gone.

He clenched his jaw, turned, and kicked a clump of grass, managing to dislodge it from the dry dirt. He was ticked off at himself, annoyed with Sam, angry with Jake even... but most of all, angry with his father for what he'd done. He wasn't getting past it, even though he'd said a dozen times that he was. He wasn't getting over it, and he didn't know if he ever would.

A light flickered in front of him, blurred out of and then into focus. Jake.

_"Dean,"_ he said, clearly, this time, _"I have to go now. I'm sorry. I want you to listen to me... just one last time, okay?"_ Dean's mouth dropped open, but he managed to get in a nod. _"You can't keep looking for something you're never going to find, anyway. Understand? People can't give you what you need, and if you keep trying to find it in them, you're going to end up pushing them away. Starting with Sam. So, let it go, Dean. Please."_ He swallowed visibly, smiled that sad smile and then turned, walked ahead until the glare from the sun's setting made Dean look away.

When he looked back again, Jake was gone... for good, this time.

- - -

Sam couldn't do much but go out and find that job that Dean had suggested he get. It was either that or pace up and down the motel room while Dean was out who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what. And if he tried doing that, Sam knew he'd probably end up breaking everything in the place.

So he'd gone out looking for some minimum wage gig, and ended up at some jerk's electronics shop, packing cellphones. He could tell right away, by the way the man said that he didn't really need the help, that it was just going to be a one-time deal. But they needed the cash--they _always_ needed the cash--and it was better than sitting back at the motel, twiddling his thumbs.

So when the guy paid him fifty bucks and told him he'd give him a call, Sam had given a mental, _'Yeah, right_,' and headed back to the motel.

He'd trudged in, seen that Dean still wasn't back, and gone out to find some supper. He got back from the fast-food restaurant, and still, Dean hadn't returned.

He'd eaten, wishing it wasn't so quiet, remembering fights he'd had with Dean over various kitchen tables while their dad scribbled away in his journal, usually ignoring his two sons--or trying to. And sometimes, when they'd all just sat and actually talked about something other than hunting. Those had been rare occasions, and the thought of them made Sam's eyes water, so he quit thinking and shoved another piece of crispy chicken in his mouth.

There was a knock on the door, and Sam nearly choked. He took a long sip of his coke and got up, calling, "Who is it?"

"Open the door, Sam," Dean called back, and Sam relaxed marginally. It could still be a trick, so he grabbed his gun and held it aimed at the floor as he eased the door open.

Dean ordered, "Sam, put that away." Sam blinked at Dean, registered the shadows under his eyes, and then snapped out of it and put his gun under the waistband of his pants, at his back.

"Why didn't you use your key?"

"Forgot it," Dean mumbled.

His slipped inside, shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, almost sagging. Sam shifted uncomfortably to see the man like that, and questioned, "So... where were you?"

"Walking." He swallowed, and his eyes darted away, anywhere but to meet Sam's. "He said goodbye."

"What?" Sam questioned and took a step closer, almost reaching to touch Dean and then deciding against it. "Jake?" he asked more gently.

Dean spoke, voice almost hoarse it was so low, "He left... went into the light." He tried smiling, but it obviously failed, and leaned his head back against the door for a moment before gathering himself together and walking toward the bed.

He flopped down, face-first, and Sam came to stand beside him, then sat down. "Are you--?" He asked, then stopped because Dean didn't want to answer that question, and Sam had promised he wouldn't ask it anymore.

Dean unburied his face from the pillows. "Yeah... I'm okay, Sam. Really." He sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, then turned to half-face Sam, hands gripping the bed. "You know what? Let's get back in the saddle. Let's get out of this town and find a new hunt. That's what we both need."

"I thought you needed time off," Sam retorted, and then frowned, suspiciously. "There's something goin' on with you, isn't there? That girl in the restaurant. You healed her, didn't you?"

Dean half-flinched, turned so that his back was to Sam, and said, "I don't know... maybe... okay, yeah."

Sam drew a shaky breath and wondered, "What is it? Healing?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, voice strained, back straight and stiff, "Empathy, too, I think."

"Empa--" Sam's voice trailed off, and he stared. Good God... Dean with _empathy_? What sort of God or power would do that to a person? Dean _already_ carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Did the universe want to bury him alive?

"Sam... don't, okay?" Dean snapped, and stood up, quickly, turning to face him like he was squaring off for a fight.

Sam stood and came around the bed, ready for that same fight, ready to talk some sense into his closed-mouthed brother. But when Dean backed up, he realized he couldn't. That if he pushed any further... Well, he didn't _know_ what might happen. And he didn't want to risk it.

"Okay... Okay."

He turned and paced to the desk, then turned back to look at Dean. His brother was holding his casted arm to his stomach. It must be hurting him again, Sam thought, absently.

Not looking at him, Dean sat down on the bed and lay down, back against the headboard, then crossed his ankles over each other. He closed his eyes, and Sam sighed and went to the bathroom. Maybe a shower might clear his head. It couldn't hurt.

As soon as he heard the shower go on, Dean got up and got his duffel bag. He glanced quickly around the room, didn't spot anything of his strewn about, and zipped the open flaps up and hefted it onto his shoulder. He'd take the Impala, but he'd leave the rest of Sam's stuff. He just needed to get out there. Maybe for good; he wasn't sure. He just knew he couldn't let what Jake had talked about happen.

If he didn't leave now, eventually, Sam was going to.


	15. Chapter 5 Ver 1

**Chapter Five**

Sam kicked himself ten ways to next Sunday, and thought about the irony of his thoughts before he'd left Dean alone, sulking. He should never have walked away from that argument. He should've confronted Dean, even if it meant making him...

No, he couldn't have done it, and Dean had known that about him. He'd known that Sam would back off, and he'd used it to his advantage. Darn him.

But Sam wasn't gonna let him off that easy. He was going after him. Wherever he'd gone, whatever he meant to do, Sam was going to find him, and if necessary, stop him from doing something irrevocably stupid.

Even if it meant stealing another car.

- - -

If there'd been a grave for him to visit, Dean might have gone to his father's. He had, in a dream, once, but that was different. In this life, he and Sam had burned John's body on a pyre and walked away.

He'd left Jake too, and a part of himself behind. Or was it the other way around? Had Jake left a part of himself with Dean? If he had, why? _How_ wasn't necessarily a factor, since Dean wasn't so concerned with it since it was obvious that something _had_ happened to give him powers, but he needed to know why Jake had wanted to give him the abilities if that's what he'd really done.

There was a chance that being dragged astrally across the states had somehow brought out some psychic ability, but he just wasn't so ready to buy that theory. The Yellow-eyed demon had something to do with _Sam's_ and the other kids' powers. And he'd had something to do with Jake's daughter's and wife's deaths, so why not this?

And if he had something to do with Dean's abilities, didn't it follow that maybe Dean had something to do with--

But he couldn't finish that thought.

His arm had started giving him heck, earlier, so he'd cut off the cast and healed it. Of course, he'd had to catch a few Zs afterward, so it was a good thing he'd already pulled over to the side of the road. But it'd been worth it. He needed two good arms to hunt, after all.

Except, he wasn't hunting. He was headed for Oregon--for Jake's cabin. And from there, well, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

- - -

Two motels and some hours later, Dean found himself pulling up to Jake's cabin. He stared at it, not because it was so odd but because it was exactly as it had been. There was no yellow crime-scene tape, like he'd imagined, but there was a "For Sale" sign on the door, when he came up to it. However, it wasn't locked, and he was able to just walk right in.

And nearly got knocked in the face by a baseball bat. He managed to block with his left arm in time. But the impact jarred it, of course, and he realized the healing hadn't exactly been perfect, but he didn't think it was broken again. "Hey! Hey!" he exclaimed 'cause the girl with the bat was coming after him again. "Stop! I'm not a burglar!"

He was practically on his knees, begging, but she still gave him the suspicious look. She was freaked out, he sensed, but smart enough not to back down because of it.

"Who are you?" she demanded, and he got to his feet, carefully, leaning against the door.

"Dean Winchester," he said, without thinking, and realized too late that maybe honesty wasn't the best policy, in this case. What if she'd heard his name on the news?

She relaxed a little, and asked, "Did you know my uncle?"

"Your uncle?" Dean asked, and she nodded. "Jake?" he asked, when he realized she was testing him.

She sighed and leaned the bat against the back of the couch and said, "Yeah, I'm Christie Michaels. Jake was my uncle by marriage. He willed me his cabin..." There was something sad in her dark eyes at that moment, and he thought maybe it had something to do with her mother's sister dying a horrible death, pinned to the ceiling of a nursery, and then right afterward, her cousin dying at the hospital.

Or, it could just be that her uncle had just died.

"I'm sorry about your uncle," he said.

She nodded, and backed up a bit, glanced behind her before she sat down on the arm of the couch, and wondered, "So, I take it you heard about his heart attack?"

Dean swallowed, nodded. "Yeah... Look, I didn't know you were here. I just meant to... I'd better go." He turned to leave, and she got up again, and went to him.

"Your arm," she said, briefly, and took it from him.

"What are you--?" he asked, but she was already trying to get his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket.

"I hit it pretty hard," she murmured, full-on concentration. Sometime during her examination, she touched his bare arm and they both felt a shock. Dean blinked, and started to pull away. '_What the...?'_

"What was that?" she asked, and shook her head. She kept hold of his arm, and brushed her fingertips over the growing bruise. "Oh... ouch. I'm so sor--" There was the briefest warmth, and then the bruise disappeared, and Dean's mouth dropped open.

"Did you just--?" he asked her, and she looked up at him as if she'd just had the strangest, most shocking experience of her life.

"Did I just... heal you?" she asked, then dropped her hands and took a step back.

Dean tried to sense what she was feeling and realized he couldn't. It was gone. Both gifts were gone. And he had a pretty good idea where they were.


	16. Chapter 6 Ver 1 w Extra

**Chapter Six**

Christie stared at him, and then stared down at her hand, and then just went around and sat down on the couch. Dean followed her, and started a rambling explanation that was bound to freak her out more than it helped. He had to try, though.

"I think Jake gave me his powers, somehow, before he died," he said, and sat down on the coffee table, facing her. "He was pulling me over astrally to help me, and he healed me a few times. The last time he healed me, it killed him. I'm sorry, Christie. Your uncle's dead because of me."

"I..." she said, and then shook her head, slowly. She rubbed her hand, absently, and asked, "I think I can feel..." She gazed at him, expression thoughtful, then tucked her dark hair behind an ear. "He gave you his powers? And you gave them to me?"

"Not on purpose," he told her, quickly. "But... I think maybe it's what Jake wanted. For you to have them, I mean."

She shook her head, frowned. "Then why wouldn't he just give them to me, in the first place?"

Dean took a moment to think that one through, remembered that they hadn't transferred until she'd touched him, and then remembered that Jake had actually had physical contact with him, in a way, before he'd died. "He couldn't reach you, but I was right there. In astral form." He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but he thought it might freak her out.

"Okay," she said, and nodded. "Would you like some tea, or something?"

He chuckled, and she giggled. "God, this is... crazy," she said, and asked, "Are you sure I can't just touch you and give them back?"

He smiled sympathetically, but nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

She reached out and touched his hand, anyway. When she pulled away, she asked, "Are you okay? It's none of my business, but... you seem really sad."

He nodded. "Yeah, a little."

"Want to talk about it?" she asked.

"I had a... falling out with my brother," he said, reservedly. He tried to smile. "How 'bout that tea now?"

She searched his face. Then, for a moment, looked at him as if she were looking straight through to his heart. She nodded, smiled a little and stood up.

"Sure." When she went into the familiar kitchen, he knew she thought she was never going to see him again. He hoped she was right.

He slipped quietly out of the cabin, but knew she was going to hear the Impala's engine, so he gunned it before she could take a look out the window.

He had to go back--he realized--to Sam. At first, he'd thought he was doing the right thing by leaving. But now he understood that he was just going to spiral deeper and deeper if he stayed away. And if Sam wanted to talk things through when he got there, so be it.

But he wasn't going to be doing any more pushing. He was afraid of losing Sam, but if he didn't try to love him the best he could, then he'd already lost him, anyway.

_Epilogue_

Sam was this close to giving up, when, out of nowhere, Dean walked into the bar and came to sit next to him. For a week now, he'd been climbing the walls, trying to figure out where Dean had gone, glancing over his shoulder every time a door opened, waiting for it to be him.

And today, when it had happened, he'd had to give a double take because he was so used to looking away again when it wasn't him. Except this time, it _was_ Dean.

"Hey," he said to Sam, and ordered a beer. "How are you?"

"Fine," Sam said, because rational thought had presently escaped him. "You?"

"Awesome. Gave my powers to Jake's niece. I'm good to go."

"Riiight," Sam answered, but he felt himself grinning. Then he wondered, seriously, "They're really gone?"

Dean nodded. "Ask me what you're feeling."

"What am I feeling?"

Dean squinted at him, momentarily, and Sam tried to keep a straight face. "You wanna get laid."

Sam really laughed, for the first time in a long time, and it felt good, great, in fact. He thumped Dean on the back, and his brother smirked and questioned, "I was right, huh?"

"Totally off," Sam answered, goodnaturedly. "You were probably projecting."

It took Dean a moment, but when he got it, he nudged Sam playfully, and retorted, "Jerk."

And it occurred to Sam, then, as he gave the requisite insult, that they were going to be all right.

_-End-_

**Extra - "Typo Tale":** Here's an IM conversation between my sister and I. Hope you enjoy. (The story and typo being discussed _are_ from a different version of this story. Yes, there were many. -sweat drop- Heheh.)

**blueliath:** dude... i have the weirdest typo

**blueliath:** i don't understand what i meant to write

**blueliath:** _It was nighttime and pretty dark until they'd turned their flashlights on, and event then Sam had started at a rat's squeak before the light had caught the end of a tale disappearing around a mound of wooden boxes._

**blueliath:** ohhhh

**blueliath:** -gets it- heheh

**vespertanmer:** lol

**vespertanmer:** tale

**blueliath:** oops

**vespertanmer:** event

**blueliath:** lol

**vespertanmer:** lol

**vespertanmer:** _dies_

**blueliath:** it was the "event" one that had me stymied

**blueliath:** shush

**vespertanmer:** It just...lends a whole other meaning to it.

**blueliath:** lol, that is hilarious

**blueliath:** hahah

**blueliath:** yeah

**blueliath:** -dies laughing... calms into giggles-

**vespertanmer:** A tale...lol

**blueliath:** shush... lol

**vespertanmer:** You are awesome.

**A/N:** Heheh... Hope you enjoyed. :D


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